Fallout
by a singularity in the milky way
Summary: "It's finally over. Illéa survived." Years of civil war and unrest are over, and Illéa is still one piece. It's time to move on, and in order to do so, Crown Prince Xander of Illéa does his part in the tradition. However, the former soldier tackles the Selection as job interview, and his family struggles with the war's end; things are bound to go wrong.
1. Cast List

**Fallout**

 **Cast List**

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 **His Royal Highness Crown Prince Xander of Illéa.** _One. 22 years old._ **  
**The young heir to the country. Serious, hard-working and established, the Crown Prince is respected by the country's sides. He fought in the civil war alongside Sevens and Twos alike, and stories that reached the public from his time as soldier tell that he is a good leader. A private person, Xander isn't very active among the Illéan elite and is more likely to be seen among people also were in the war. Ever since the Queen died, he has been acting as Prince Regent and has been handling the recovery of Illéa well.

 **His Royal Highness Prince Ernest of Illéa.** _One. 21 years old._  
The spare for the Illéa Throne. Joking, unresponsible and playful, Ernest is often viewed of the opposite of his brother. During the war, a report of paparazzi revealed that he had been frequenting clubs and similar establishments even during periods of high fighting within Angeles. Especially among the upper class, he is considered an insult and disrespected, but the working class has come to view him as the most approachable royal. If you see him on the street, he's always open to coffee.

 **Her Royal Highness Princess Sophia of Illéa.** _One. 20 years old._ **  
**The beautiful fairy tale princess. Elegant, polite and sweet, Sophia has been compared with Disney princess her whole life. A classic woman, she is well-connected among the upper class and regularly is found among her friends, the ladies of Illéa. However, especially after the war, she has come to strongly support projects to help the lower castes. She values education and equality a lot. Rumour among the elite has it that she is soon to marry a foreign royal though. If that is the case, she'll be missed.

 **His Royal Highness Prince Louis of Illéa.** _One. 19 years old._  
A shadow of the prince he is meant to be. Quiet, thoughtful and watching, Louis avoids attention like the pest. Ever since he made a beginner's mistake on live television by lashing out at a Six with the comment "Well, you should have thought about this before you became a Six", he has been in the critic eye of the population. While the elite has shown more understanding, the lower castes have come to dislike him heavily. The elite criticizes that he hasn't recovered yet either. Ever since the Great Unrest, he has completely avoided any public space and disappeared between books.

 **Her Royal Highness Princess Victoria of Illéa.** _One. 18 years old._  
The once-nestling of the royal family. Once happy, out-going and intelligent, Victoria was believed to be destined to become Xander's closest confidante when he'd rule. However, she was abducted by the uprising during the Great Unrest's beginning and held hostage for five years. Ever since she has only been seen in public once, and rumour has it that she doesn't even talk to her family anymore.

 **His Majesty King Adrian of Illéa.** _One. 43 years old._  
The king. Calm, thoughtful and an admirer of the fine arts, Adrian once was a sophisticated man who tried his best, despite the circumstances. He inherited the country during economic difficulties, but always tried his best to rule it. While he always had passion, he lacked the contact and touch to the lower castes and poor people to understand all sides. After the love of his life, Lysandre Wilde, was killed on the last day of the Great Unrest, he retreated to grieve, leaving the country in his son's hands.

 **Her Majesty Queen Lysandre of Illéa.** _Two-turned-One. dead at 42._  
The late queen. Beloved by one, her husband, and hated by many, Lysandre was the winner of the last Selection, coming from Angeles. A skilled actress, she always failed to establish herself among the elite due to being 'different'; her parents weren't born Twos but had been made such, and she was 'only' an actress. She never related to the lower castes or poor people, and her comments towards them and lack of care might be seen as the reason for the Great Unrest to happen.

 **Her Majesty Queen Helena The Queen Mother of Illéa.** _One. 59 years old._  
The queen mother. Calm, serene and a true queen, Helena was the consort of Henry of Illéa, Adrian's father. A born Five, she always loved music and still does. Helena always adapted quickly, and became a lady of elegance and beauty during the Selection, and accepted by her people. Despite initial struggles, she nowadays is a respected woman in society, and always tried to be involved with her family. Between her and Lysandre is a long story of dislike and distrust, and she retreated to Hill Castle after her son became King. Going by rumours, Lysandre has kept Helena's contact to her grandchildren minimal.

 **His Royal Highness Prince Louis of Illéa.** _Four-turned-Two-turned-One. 66 years old._  
Lysandre's father. A born Four who became a member of the Illéan military, Jonathan has experienced middle class and upper class. Nowadays the general of the army, he has dedicated his life to his country and was always a strong influence on Xander. He values loyalty and honesty but always questioned whenever his daughter's feelings were for Adrian or the Crown.

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 **Minerva "Minnie" Loren Whitefield.** _Three. 22 years old. Allens. Businesswoman at I-TEC. by Celegra913.  
_ Minerva "Minnie" Whitfield is a wealthy Three from Allens and a double-sided blade: by day, she's a sharp, assertive businesswoman and entrepreneur looking to upstart her own business. By night, she's a wild, carefree party girl—or so people think. She is still haunted by the horrific violence she saw during her time as a soldier in the Great Unrest and grappling with herself on a daily basis. The only two people she genuinely trusts are her dads, even though one is always busy with work. She values work ethic and ambition—because she has lots of it. Her greatest desire is to be the CEO of her own company, and hopes that the Selection will help her in this endeavor.

 **Ami Jeanette Kennedy.** _Two._ _2_ _2 years old. Baffin._ _Professional snowboarder. by Berrybush123._ _  
_Ami Jeanette Kennedy, the fiery Two who never made it to fame. Born into a wealthy family of a CEO father and a model mother, Ami was expected to take over her father's company. However, Ami's spirit was too wild and her love of snowboarding was to great for her to even consider becoming a CEO, much to her father's displeasure. The opportunity for the Selection arrived, and she signed up on impulse in hopes of saving her snowboarding career and finally being something more than the "other sister".

 **Ingrid "Kate" Katheryn Blanchard.** _Three. 20 years old. Belcourt. Unemployed fanfiction writer. by Slytherwitch.  
_ Ingrid Katheryn Blanchard hates her name, hates isolation, and at times, hates her mother. The girl is alone most of the time but would love to be friends with people. The Great Unrest left her to be by herself, but now that it's over Kate would love to branch out more.

 **Nereida Rue Statten.** _Five. 21 years old. Bonita. Dancer. by rysaspirit.  
_ Nereida Rue Statten, a Five with a love of dancing, baking, stargazing, and all things blue. Adopted at a young age by a loving couple in Bonita, family and dance mean everything to Nereida, and she works hard to support them and pursue her passions. When the opportunity for the Selection arises, she's reluctant to go until somebody changes her mind. For the sake of her family's future, and a certain playwright she cares deeply about, she enters the Selection and prepares herself for an adventure like nothing she's ever seen before.

 **Andreia Celine Jensen.** _Two. 23 years old. Calgary. Police detective. by Dr Kay Strange.  
_ Andreia Celine Jansen comes from a long line of military and law enforcement officers. The twenty-three-year-old initially planned on enlisting in the Royal Illéan Air Force once she was old enough, but the outbreak of the civil war and the military's fear of unintentional civilian bombing forced her to back away. Andreia couldn't be talked out of all the danger, and instead became a police officer. She now serves the people as a detective in the police department. Righteous, moral, and blindly obedient, she entered the Selection to serve her country on the highest front.

 **Pricilla "Cilla" Charlotte Chamberlain.** _Two. 22 years old. Carolina. Singer-songwriter. by ChillyIce.  
_ Pricilla Charlotte Chamberlain is a Two from Carolina, who is an aspiring country singer-songwriter. Her family, consisting of a famous movie director, an actress, a news anchor and Cilla. She enjoys music, but her first album wasn't a success, and her parents except her to change to a different genre, among other things, even though Cilla wants to continue with the music she loves.

 **Blair Ann Willow.** _Seven. 21 years old. Clermont. Lifeguard. by La Rosa.  
_ Blair Ann Willow is a lifeguard from Palm Beach, Clermont. She's a fierce and protective young woman who cares a lot about her family. After difficult circumstances, her family, once Threes, became Sevens. She enters the Selection on the prompt of her ex-boyfriend, and in order to secure her family money.

 **Alessandra "Alex" Isobel Valentino.** _Caste. 20 years old. Columbia. Model. by Jcuret98.  
_ Alessandra Isobel Valentino goes by Alex and might punch you if you call her anything else. She is a two who is forced into her supermodel career by her mother. However, she would much rather spend her time playing pranks, making her friends laugh and knowing every word to rap songs. At first she is really reluctant to be in the selection, but sees this as an opportunity to be herself without her job and mother. Who knows, she might just add a little spark to this whole thing.

 **Anastasia Marie Collins.** _Three. 23 years old. Dakota. Bio-environmental engineer at I-TEC. by Headless Gummy Bear.  
_ Anastasia Marie Collins graduated from Waverly Institute of Technology with honors at the age of twenty. Her early graduation was a result of her hard work, drive, intelligence, and a fortunate opportunity to intern at Illean Technology and Engineering Corp (I-TEC). Specializing in Bio-environmental engineering, she spends most of her time at work and in the lab, examining samples from her home province of Dakota. She's a proud Illéan, and her biggest motivation for participating in the Selection is her desire to be apart of something bigger than herself, and to help those in need.

 **Sawyer Emory Roth.** _Four. 21 years old. Fennley. Student. by OctaviaWithStarsForEyes.  
_ Sawyer Emory Roth is a belligerent Four from Fennley who isn't afraid to back up the threats she makes. Although the string of fights she's gotten into over the years of rebel occupation in her town has gotten her in trouble, she genuinely means well, and loves her family greatly. Despite her aggressive tendencies, she's also a kind, creative soul who can't resist her mama bear instincts and hopes to eventually live up her beloved brother and parents. She can't pretend to be as ladylike as some of the other Selected, but her strong moral compass and vast capacity for caring make her a strong contender and memorable girl. Scrappy, defiant, and caring, Sawyer is a firestorm of a girl, and those who meet her won't leave the same, for better or worse.

 **Rowan Nora Johansson.** _Seven. 20 years old. Kent. Farmer. by MoonChild913.  
_ Rowan Nora Johansson is a Seven who grew up on a farm in Kent. She is stubborn, practical, and always a realist. Her father was drafted for the war when she was sixteen, and it pushed her already impoverished family over the edge. She was pulled from school to work and her mother slowly fell away. She has slowly taken over raising and providing for her two younger siblings, Owen and Annie. When the opportunity to enter the Selection arose she begrudgingly took it, but only as a way to give her siblings the future they deserve.

 **Leda Conner.** _Four. 22 years old. Labrador. Stockbroker. by Exotence.  
_ Leda 'Lee' Conner grew up in the Finance Sector. The Great Unrest left the majority of the financial sector out of work, including the Conner family. Unruffled, Leda set her eyes on continuing her family tradition. With a degree in economics and a successful internship under her belt, she eventually managed to score an entry-level job as a broker in Toronto. Unfortunately, things don't always go as planned. Leda is in a standstill, her family troubles are escalating, the apartment is too quiet, and an unhealthy ambition has begun to take roots.

 **Leila Sinclair.** _Two. 21 years old. Likely. Firefighter. by mnbvcxz-xx.  
_ Leila Sinclair is a Two from Likely, and works as firefighter. Born and raised from an influential family, Leila's life has a lot of expectations on what she can do and who she should be accociated with. After a big tragedy, Leila's not the perfect sociallite daughter anymore. Despite her parents dissaproval, she left old life behind and become a passionate fire fighter.

 **Gabriella "Rie" Jespersen.** _de facto Eight. 22 years old. Midston. Unemployed veteran. by Michelle the Editor  
_ Gabriella "Rie" Jespersen signed up for the Coast Guard the day she turned 17, eager to prove herself and fight for her country. Unfortunately, she didn't get much of a chance; on her very first mission as a Seaman she stepped on a land mine and lost both of her legs just above the knee in the ensuing explosion. She was forced to sit out the remainder of the war, reduced to an Eight because of her inability to work. Now she hopes that the Selection will give her the chance to achieve something in spite of her caste and disability.

 **Irina Leda Cavanah.** _Four. 24 years old. Ottaro. Construction manager. by Nikt Wazny.  
_ Irina Leda Cavanah is the synonym of confidence and ambition. Hardworking and determined, there's nothing she won't do to achieve her goals. She believes she's destined to be someone more than just a jeweler and thinks the Selection will help her with that. She's monarchy-friendly and she was actively fighting against the rebels - volunteered soon after the Great Unrest started.

 **Deylin Reyes.** Five _. 23 years old. Panama. Pottery maker. by Sevenzeroseven.  
_ Deylin Reyes, an average Five from Panama that works in pottery and sculpting. With her widowed working mother, an angry younger sister, and twins running around her household, all she knows is work and money like everyone else. She's cheap, raw, and emotionally clumsy but she's trying to move on with her life. She enters the Selection not just for the checks, but for the answers it might provide.

 **Zarah "Zare" Baine.** Six _. 22 years old. Paloma. Taxi driver and secretary. by Tis I, The Most Frenchiest Fry.  
_ Zarah Baine is a twenty year old six from Paloma. She works as a secretary and a cabi driver. She is very rebellious, and refuses to be told what to do. Zare is extroverted and loves people, but doesn't let people actually get to know her. Is very determined, and can do anything if she sets her mind to it. Zare is also very stubborn, and doesn't let anyone or anything get in her way.

 **Harriet Tailor.** _Four. 23 years old. Sonage. Hotel heiress. by PrincessLillyCarter.  
_ Harriet Tailor is a hard working business woman. As the daughter of the owner of the Tailor Hotel chain, she knows a thing or two about the hotel industry. A confident young woman of the upper class, she has grown up surrounded by her father's work and is educated in how to run them.

 **Euphrosyne "Rosy" Antiope Tillings.** _Three. 20 years old. Sota. Research assistant. by Sabinethafangirl  
_ Euphrosyne "Rosy" Antiope Tillings is a girl born in Chicago's high society. Having lost her sister to the rebels and with her disapproving parents breathing down her neck, she throws herself into her research. Rosy is stubborn, opinionated, logical, and is as charming as an ice cube during social situations, thanks to major social anxiety. She believes nothing is impossible.

 **Isla Penelope Woodley.** _Seven. 21 years old. Sumner. Mechanic. by Cookiedoodles68.  
_ Isla Penelope Woodley has lived an interesting life, to say the least. She grew up impoverished in one of the wealthiest provinces in Illéa, and watched as said province crumbled due to the Great Unrest-the great mansions and homes where twos and threes hosted their galas and soirees and empty now, and the streets and crime-ridden. Yet amongst all of this, she continues to raise her niece and work as a mechanic, finding work with the more unsavory characters in town. But hey, a girl's got to do what she's got to do to survive, and it's a daily struggle for people like her. All she wants is to get out and give her niece a better future, and the selection may be her only way out.

 **Tessera "Tessa" Marlene Evans.** _Four. 22 years old. St. George. Horse rider. by Smiley111.  
_ Tessera "Tessa" Evans is a sweet and introverted young girl from a tiny town in St. George. She is an exercise rider for racehorses, and loves her horses more than anything. Her mother encouraged her to enter the Selection to make new friends and she is motivated by the desire to get out of her small town and see new sites. She is shy and a bit unrefined, but a pleasant and sweet girl once you get to know her.

 **Veira Garnet Schreave.** _One. 20 years old. Waverly. Socialite. by Abizeau  
_ Lady Veira Garnet Schreave is an 20-year-old Socialite from New York, Waverly, and niece of the Governor of said Province. As a descendant of Brenton Schreave, former advisor of Gregory Illéa himself, she is a One, and lives in all the privileges her Castes offers: money, a Penthouse apartment overseeing the city of New York, and endless parties. A night owl, Veira usually sleeps half the day off, and wakes only to go shopping, clubbing, or to watch the stars at night. She lives on green tea and Vogue Magazines, mostly, and is rising to be a well-known fashion icon in Waverly and the East Coast. Just don't be fooled by her bubbly and beautiful exterior. Deep down, she hides some ugly stuff…

 **Jaira Lynn Phillips.** _Three. 23 years old. Whites. Bio-chemist at I-TEC. by Sylea._  
Jaira Phillips is a successful three, a biochemist working for the most important pharmaceutical laboratory in Illéa, which has gained a lot of power during the war. She lives in the little city of Alyeska in Whites, with her family, where the war didn't really affected them. She has an imaginative and strategic mind, alongside a high self-confidence. She doesn't give her trust easily, but she would do anything for people she cares about. She wishes to be useful and improve the world, and participating in the Selection is definitely an opportunity she won't miss.

* * *

 **Spoilers Ahead!**

* * *

 **Lady Abby Moon.** _Two. 40 years old. Singer-songwriter and socialite._  
Formerly a Selected of Adrian, she was eliminated among the first, but the brief friendship she made with Lysandre Wilde remained. When Lysandre became crown princess and then queen, Abby was by her side as her friend, bridesmaid and lady-in-waiting. She a singer-songwriter, and a prime example of how much the fame of the Selection can change one's life; before, she was a nobody trying her luck in the music industry, whereas now, she is an old-time favourite of a generation.

 **Officer Evan Cavanah.** _Two. 24 years old. Royal guard._  
Evan is Irina Cavanah's dead-believed older brother. As a result of military chaos and other problems, his family was left believing him to be dead. In fact, he, over his career, became a member of a semi-secret unit, including Xander who is now his best friend. He is often tasked with standing guard for Victoria, as he is one of the few guards she trusts. He's got a few bets on the Selection.

 **Lillian Blanchard.** _Three. 40 years old._  
Despite being a middle-class architect, Lillian is a refined woman. Always concerned for her daughter, Kate's safety, she has taken any measure to protect her from the Unrest, which may ended up in sheltering her a bit too much. Her husband and son both died during the Unrest, and Kate claims she isn't as nice as she is, but Lillian is a talented listener and empathetic friend.

 **Victoria "Tori" Belasko.** _Former rebel leader and advisor to Xander._  
Under the codename Raven, Tori became infamous for being the rebel tasked with assassinating the queen. Whenever that is true is questionable, especially when Tori was also the cause of Victoria being able to escape. Cynical and distrusting, she has a strange relationship to Xander. She hovers around Victoria like a hawk over his eggs, and has long grown too fond of her to let her go.

 **Andrew Hartman.** _Rebel.  
_ One of the rebels that had been tasked with getting information out of Victoria. A constant figure haunting her nightmares, and someone that couldn't stand Tori.

 **William ?.** _Rebel.  
_ Another rebel tasked with interrogating Victoria, but also one that dealt a lot of damage to Illéa's digital network.

 **Jack ?.** _Rebel and former soldier.  
_ A soldier who had long moved his allegiance to the rebels, and spied on Xander.

 **Sloth Girl**. _Five. Ice cream tester. created with the help of GreenWithAwesome._  
Known as Sloth Girl, she may have survived the first elimination only because Xander wanted to spite his family. She comes from Denbeight.

 **Economy Student.** _Four. Economy student._  
The Selected from Honduragua that passed the first round predominantly because twenty-five is a much nicer number to go down to.


	2. Chapter 1

**Fallout**

 **Chapter 01**

»Don't turn the Selection into a job interview«

 **Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

Xander glanced at the pen in his hand.

Maybe he was looking at the paper beneath it too. Maybe he was just looking at the pen. Probably, it was the paper sheet beneath. He didn't want to sign it. Something in him refused. Something that Xander didn't like at all. It frightened him – what was it? There was no reason to be afraid of a _piece of paper_!

But everyone agreed. All advisors agreed. The instant he would tell his father, he would agree. His grandmother would agree. His sister would agree. Maybe his other siblings – except Ernest – wouldn't be too keen, but they would accept the decision wordless.

A knock at the door of the prince's office gained Xander's attention. The clock at the wall reminded him that he should be heading to bed soon. It couldn't be anyone foreign. Maybe his valet?

"Come in."

It wasn't his valet but his sister, Sophia, who stepped into his office – calm and elegant, with the kind smile as always on her face. She closed the door behind her. "Good evening."

"Good evening," Xander replied. "What can I do for you?" he asked his younger sibling. The prince sat up straight – Sophia rarely came to him for anything. She was a grown-up adult and needed no one to hold her hand in life. If even, she came to hold the hand of others, but then again, Xander had no need for that either.

"I just wanted to talk to you," Sophia answered. "May I sit?"

"Of course," Xander replied with a subconscious gesture towards the chair, "about what?"

"Nothing in particular." Sophia looked at him as if she was looking at a riddle. There probably _was_ something she wanted to talk about, Xander concluded. Sophia didn't have the time to talk about nothing – not so late in the evening, at least.

"You aren't seeing anyone today, I assume?" Xander asked with irony. It was too late for Sophia to leave now. Maybe she had met with her friends before this though, he reminded himself.

Sophia chuckled. "Jealous that my social life is so much more existent than yours?" she teased. "But no," she said, returning to the voice that she usually used to talk to the prince regent—calm and mature, "not this evening. I cleared the evening after-," she hesitated.

"After what?" Xander began to relax. Sophia _was_ his sister; there was no need to be _that_ uptight around her. However, it had been another exhausting day, filled with dealing with the consequences of the civil war, and Sophia's unannounced visit was rather strange.

"I heard _rumours_." Sophia leaned forward, placing her elbows on her arms on his desk. "Is it true?"

So, there were rumours now? Who in the council of advisors had talked? He didn't like that – it could cost him trouble and problems, which in return would take time away from running the country. "… Maybe."

Happiness filled Sophia's expression – now as bright as the sun – and she sat up cheerfully. "You're holding a Selection!"

" _Maybe_ ," Xander emphasised. "Nothing is decided yet."

"Oh, come on!" Sophia laughed. "You're what? Twenty-two years old? It's overdue!" Sophia's joy was catching. Xander couldn't help but smile as well. She was right – the Selection was overdue. If it hadn't been for the Great Unrest, he'd either be married or still holding it now. "What's holding you back?"

"Costs, the time spend on it, …" The something else holding him back. What even was that? It couldn't be fear – Xander wasn't afraid of girls. No way. He yawned into the back of his hand. He'd need to sleep a night over this. He generally needed sleep.

"I'm no prodigy in economy or anything," Sophia spoke, "but haven't we made lots of plus over the last half year? Through the prisoner camps with the rebels, I mean?"

"Not enough to equal a civil war, Sophia," Xander reminded her. "The money we've spend on the Great Unrest is _a lot_. I don't want to go too far into using the resources the camps have given us – not yet at least."

"So… It's a money issue?" Sophia asked. She leaned forward over Xander's desk, trying to get a peek from what he was looking at. Wordless, her brother handed her the folder. Among them was a list of calculations made by one of the advisors with whom Xander was working.

"Considering the situation and the ripples, the Great Unrest has sent through the country, it is only realistic that Ernest and-or Louis will end up holding a Selection as well. Ernest is in eligible age. Louis too. People would question why he isn't following up, and I don't like people questioning the country's finances." Xander explained, referring to his younger brothers.

Sophia did some untrained calculations in her head herself. "And… If we were to say, we'll do it again with Louis and not with Ernest… He probably would be more difficult to be married to a person of influence, considering his public image," she concluded.

"No one wants to marry someone who's known for spending his time and money in a club during a war, yes." Xander nodded – he trusted Sophia's opinion on the society. "I don't even want to suggest looking for foreign women with him; it's too dangerous for foreign relations. And inside Illéa? Even if we were to look at the influential families and houses, they know him. A Selection would be the best solution."

"Who'd want to sign up for a Selection with a playboy?" Sophia questioned.

"About every girl in the country who'd like to be a princess, I presume," Xander said. "It would allow us to change his image as well."

Sophia finished the thought for him. "Growing up by falling in love or so, I see what you mean. Louis is far too socially awkward and shy to hold a Selection either way. At the moment, at least."

"He also is only nineteen," Xander reminded her.

"Grandmother was seventeen when she married grandfather though." Sophia reminded him.

"Yes… That reminds me…" Xander began scribbling something on a paper sheet that had been marked to hold changes he needed to implement. He wouldn't want anyone underage in his Selection. Between twenty and twenty-four sounded like a good age range to him – he wasn't sure what to make of the idea of having a wife older than him but then again, his mother was a few hours older than her father.

"Understandable," Sophia commented after she read his note from her seat. "Would Ernest need to hold a Selection though?"

"I don't expect him to court anyone otherwise. The longest he's been with someone was probably for two nights." Xander huffed. At least _Ernest_ probably wouldn't refuse a bus load of girls.

"Yes, but, what if we were to say that he is to marry during your Selection? I mean, it's a bit cheating, but think of grandfather's brother – he fell in love during the Selection too."

"You know how that story ended," Xander muttered bitter.

" _Yes_ , I do," Sophia replied with a sigh, "but do you see what I mean? If Ernest was to look for a wife during _your_ Selection, we would kill two birds with one stone – we save money because Ernest doesn't have a Selection on his own, _but_ he'll have a Cinderella story to rise the public support. I mean, officially, he would have just met the women a few times, but he still fell in love and blabla. Sounds like a romance movie to me."

"I wouldn't know," Xander commented. They both knew that the last time Xander had seen a movie was ages ago.

"Do you see what I mean though?"

"Yes, I do." And it _was_ a good idea. Sophia had a very good point, and if they were already dealing with that, they might as well include Louis. He needed to break out of his shell either way. "Louis too."

"The girls are going to scare him if they're older though."

"He can at least try," Xander thought aloud. Maybe they could play around with the age limit. Set a date for birthdays as limit would be a choice. "I'll talk this through with the council tomorrow."

"How-," Sophia hesitated. "Are you going to select the women randomly? Grandmother remarked that the Selection isn't completely random…"

"They weren't," Xander answered, "and probably no. There's no reason to leave such an important matter to luck. One of the thirty-five Selected will become the future queen of Illéa. I don't particularly care about Ernest and Louis – their wives won't be involved into politics. I need someone who will be the ideal queen for Illéa… I saw the form that was used for dad's Selection. It's not of much use – I'll need to have someone overwork it. We'll need to look at skills, past experiences… What?"

Sophia was glaring at him. "Don't turn the Selection into a _job interview_ , Xander. By all respect – _don't_. The Selection is about love!"

"Not particularly if you look at its history," Xander reminded her. Most – all but their mother (who though had been an actress and daughter of an honoured military man), grandmother and great-grandmother – had been primarily influenced by who the women were in society. "I couldn't care less about 'love' and 'romance'. I need to find a wife – a queen. Someone who can support me in ruling the country. My workload will never be less – who knows how long we will have absolute peace and time for this to happen?"

Sophia looked aside. She wanted her fairy tale romance, Xander understood that, but she wasn't just a random girl but a princess. There was little fairy tale in real royalty, and he knew how 'helpful' his mother had been in ruling the country – even if they denied her influence on the civil war.

"I was thinking of giving them a month to learn basic protocol, etiquette et cetera," Xander began to explain. "I want to see what they can do. Rather than waiting for the elite, I probably would have them being taught about the work of a princess from the beginning on. While I admit that I haven't come up with too many ideas, they will definitely be given philanthropy projects to do and other organisation tasks. I want to give them the chance to prove political skills, but…"

"But?" Sophia rose an eyebrow. "Are you saying that women can't do politics? Because I know one that could have, if it wasn't—," She stopped when she saw the sadness filling in her older brother's expression. Never mention Victoria was still a rule, huh?

"Yes – I don't expect that from a consort. There has never been a queen in the history of Illéa that was actively involved into politics. I am willing to give them a chance, but I don't know how yet."

"Women _can_ do that," Sophia insisted. "Maybe none of the past winners, but women can." Victoria was a prime example for such. When she had been younger – before all what happened – she had been expected to one day help Xander with leading the country. Now she was only an afterimage of her past self… Xander shook the thought away.

"I was considering giving them the chance to write their own explanation on why they would be an adequate consort," Xander continued after catching himself. It never took Xander long to return to his stern, aloof expression, but Sophia had seen the sadness in his eyes. Xander was a soldier, but even soldiers could be hurt.

"If that is the case… What are you going to do about castes? A Three will have more experiences, skills and abilities than a Seven." Sophia looked at her skirt.

"That's why I was talking about giving them a month to learn etiquette and protocol, as week as other things."

"Even if you do that – how can you guarantee that anyone beneath the a Three even has a chance to be selected? They probably don't have the education and abilities needed, Xander. Plus, you have to admit it, you and the advisors are prejudiced towards higher castes."

"I wouldn't see a reason to have them include their caste in the form, to be honest," Xander explained after a moment of silence. They still could research potential candidates and figure it out later on. He knew that his sister had come to see the opinions on lower castes in a very critical light – ironic, considering the fact that Sophia was the one of the five royal siblings who was closest to Illéa's elite and society life. This would, hopefully, silence her. "What I am looking for are soft skills either way." Sophia smiled – good. "Primarily at least. If an Eight is the ideal queen, then it's an Eight. If it's a Two, it's a Two."

"What about past achievements? Education?"

"That… That is an issue that can't be easily solved, Sophia."

"Change the education system," Sophia recommended.

"It isn't as easy as it sounds, Sophia. You'd need to deal with financial issues that are above what we have – for long term, it is. The amount of money to guarantee that would be taken from taxes, meaning that money that can be used on restoration after the Great Unrest is gone."

The princess sighed. "I suppose that's why you're the prince regent and I'm just the nice-looking princess. You're right…" She paused. "… You were talking about philanthropy projects. Have them include their interests. Someone who likes creative arts will be good at organising receptions. Someone with interest in sciences will be good for… I don't know. Government work, I guess. Have them talk about themselves – what their hobbies are, what they love and what they do."

"The more they'll be required, the more they'll assume that they're not chosen by chance."

"You _could_ make that obvious and official," Sophia said. She knew that that was no choice though, "or you do something else: you talked about a month of study. Don't have them stalked by cameras then – give them time to learn all. Rather than telling the public that these letters are for the Selection, have them think that we also are looking for ladies-in-waiting. Let the public believe that we're training maids-in-waiting and ladies-in-waiting for a month before inviting the Selected to the palace. We can actually do that – after the Selection is over, I mean. Have the winner go through forms and chose women she'd like to 'try out' for herself."

"The second part will need a bit more work," Xander looked to his sister, "but the rest…? That sounds like a good idea."

"You're doing it? You're holding a Selection?"

"I will discuss it tomorrow with the advisors."

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **Welcome to my new SYOC "Fallout".**

 **I've finished writing The Red Herring, and this is my new project. You can find all information you need to submit a character on my profile.**

 **The basic outline for the story is that it'll focus on a post-civil war ("The Great Unrest") Illéa and healing from the wounds of what essentially was a war. The royal family themselves have been hurt by the war, but everyone somehow was affected.**

 **It's up to you to decide how heavy the disruption between the uprising and the government was in the province of your OC etc., but the rebels (while claiming to intend to hurt the upper castes etc.) primarily hurt the lower castes that couldn't afford protection etc., leading to many in the population supporting the government against them. Many males were conscripted. Women were able to volunteer.**

 **You can find a Pinterest board called** FF – Fallout **on my account,** millynalava **.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Xander and Sophia discussed the possibilities of the Selection, as well as spoke about the ways of selecting the women during a late night conversation in his office. The chapter was set two weeks ago. The scenes of the Selected are not set parallel._

 **Chapter 02**

»Insert complimentary round of silence here«

 **Dining Room of Ill** **éa** **Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Prince Ernest of Ill** **éa**

Ernest glared at the wall.

It was a lovely wall, sure. Beautiful ornaments, made by masters of their arts. But it was a wall. The wall was boring. A little part in him wanted to start playing around with his fork—a nasty habit he had picked up lately—but he stopped himself. He wasn't in the right mood.

Why was he so grim? That wasn't him!

"You seem unusually grim today," Sophia pointed out. Just like the lady she was, the words happened between carefully timed bites of today's dinner.

Something in Ernest wanted to give a response akin to "Who are you talking to?" or "Grim is the shadow of what has been and what will come, but bright is the hope that we hold in our dearest hearts", but that was a tiny bit too much today.

"Hm."

Sophia pouted. Well, as much as one could pout without breaking any rule that etiquette gave them. "Something is wrong—tell me! I'm your sister, you know."

Sophia was probably the only one he _would_ tell, but that was already a no-go. She would kill him if she knew. He mustered the blonde princess, dressed in a chiffon pink dress akin to a fairy, and realised that that was wrong. Sophia wouldn't kill him. She'd be disappointed, and that was probably just as awful.

"I'm bored."

"Go out and party?" she suggested, back to her delighted, bright voice and smile.

He opened his mouth to answer, but caught himself on time. Typically Sophia. Making him talk when he didn't want to. He wasn't going to tell her that 'going out clubbing' sounded incredibly boring right now.

"Hm."

"Exceptionally articulated," Louis muttered next to him. Just loud enough for Ernest to hear. He shot his younger brother a cold glance, but he kept on eating their dinner in silence. Today, it was just the four of them, and Xander—reading paper files from work, Ernest presumed (it wasn't going to be the script to _Hamilton_ ) that he had brought with him—wasn't talkative either. Nor was Louis. So as usual, it was just the two of them talking.

Too bad that Ernest needed to figure out how to leave Angeles _again_ , and thus had better things to spend his time on than small talk.

"Anything new?" Louis asked. The only thing he'd speak up for—information. Small talk was probably Louis' nemesis.

"No, not really," Sophia chirped. The glance she shot their eldest brother said otherwise though. They knew something he didn't. Did something happen? He usually followed the newsfeed, and considering Sophia's mood, it wasn't going to be atrocious either.

Ernest dropped his fork, his curiosity woken up. "What do you two know that I don't know?"

"Nothing." Xander's voice was a bit louder, but calm. He didn't add anything.

"It's been… what? Ages! You said 'tomorrow'. That was a week ago!" Sophia insisted.

"Yeah, totally _nothing_ ," Ernest rolled his eyes. "What are you scheming? Something related to the rebellion?"

"Ernest," Louis corrected, "it is called _unrest_ , not rebellion."

Ernest groaned. Of course, the Great Unrest was an 'unrest', not a rebellion. Like they kept on saying. They could at least be open about it in the family, Ernest thought, but no, they had to talk it nice. He was blunt either way. It had been a rebellion against their father's throne—one that ended in a civil war. A war among the government and a guerrilla force that no one actually had a name for. Not even Victoria, and she had been held hostage by them for five years!

"Sure, sure," Ernest waved it off either way. "Tell that to your history books."

The books would lie. Winners write History, and the government had won. They would ignore that the late Queen's behaviour had caused great disdain for the monarchy, and claim that it was the sudden, unexpected kidnapping of Princess Victoria five and a half years ago that caused it. They would claim that it was the sacrifice of Queen Lysandre that ended it half a year ago. Ridiculous, Ernest thought. But what could he do? Kill his own brother? He was no politician, and hoped dearly that he'd never need to be one. If even, he was an artist.

Sophia sighed disapproving. "Alright, alright. How have your days been?"

"Acceptable," Louis muttered, not bothering to gaze up from his food.

"I watched TV, watched TV and a bit more TV," Ernest lied. His sister wasn't going to find out what he actually had done, so even if he hated lying to her, it'd work out.

"Would you be interested in joining me for the opening of _Lady Windermere's Fan_ tomorrow? One of my friends fell sick unexpectedly, and it would be a waste to leave the ticket unused," Sophia suggested.

Ernest nodded. "Sure. But why not auction it and donate the money?"

"I considered that, yes," Sophia nodded, "but we haven't done something together in ages."

"A valid point," Ernest laughed. "Sure, why not?"

There was something in his mind that reminded him that so many people could use the money for the ticket for the play better than he could use the ticket itself, but Sophia was right. They hadn't done something together in ages. Yet, being selfish felt wrong.

They finished the dish, while Sophia—magically eating and talking at the same time—told them about what she had done with her friends today. Xander placed down the files. If it wasn't for the fact that they probably were important, Sophia probably would have complained. But then again, Ernest had no idea of it—fortunately.

"We need to discuss an important subject," he announced.

Ernest leaned backwards. "Oh, now I'm curious," he muttered. What could that be? A law proposal? Military manoeuvre? Taxes? He could barely contain his excitement.

"It's been long enough since peace returned, so I decided," Xander announced, "that I will hold a Selection soon."

Insert complimentary round of silence here.

"I intend to begin the Selection in March, and preparations for that are close to be finished. Sophia suggested giving the Selected a month of time to learn a few basics—which will be in March. After that, they will join us here at the Illéa Palace."

Ernest rose an eyebrow. "Where are you going to ship me to?" he asked. "There's no way you'd let me stay with thirty-five women around."

"You will stay," Xander declared.

While servants replaced their plates with the dessert, Ernest leaned forward. "You wouldn't do that unless you had an idea behind it. Does grandmother not want me to hang out at Hill Castle?"

The residence of the queen mother would probably be the obvious choice for Ernest, although it wasn't essentially his first choice. The Queen Mother was an amazing woman, and Ernest wouldn't mind spending more time with her, though. The born Five-turned-One was an artist, too, after all.

"I do indeed have one," Xander nodded. "I want you to take a look at the women too. Louis, you as well—although I do acknowledge a potential age gap."

"What's the age range?" he asked. Pure curiosity.

"Nineteen if born between January to June, to twenty-four," Sophia replied. "That is right, isn't it?" Xander nodded.

Louis was nineteen years old. He would turn twenty in September. Ernest was twenty-one, turning twenty-two in December, so he did see the logic Xander was thinking of.

"So, you want me to check if they're not going to cheat at you at the first hot guy?"

"No. I want you to find a wife."

This time, his silence was genuine. Not because they wanted to provide Xander a dramatic break and emphasize what he said—nope. All three were just dumbfounded by the idea of Ernest settling down. It wasn't even that Ernest couldn't imagine marrying—he couldn't imagine his brother thinking that he'd do that.

Damn it—he had worked hard on his image!

"… Aren't we…" He glanced to Louis and Sophia, "… like… meant to marry foreign royals for that stuff?" he asked.

"Cue Sophia," Xander nodded to their sister.

Sophia gave Ernest a summary of what Xander and she had spoken about, in terms of improving his public image and saving money. The add-on of hopefully pleased people made sense to Ernest.

"What if I was to say that I'm dating the daughter of the governor of Ottaro?"

"Then I'd question why Sophia hasn't pointed that out yet," Xander replied.

"Valid point," Ernest agreed, "but it doesn't answer my question."

Xander's expression darkened. "Ernest," he spoke, "life isn't that comfortable. You contribute little enough to the country." Little did he know. "This is something you should have expected your whole life to happen, so accept it."

"Accept what you can't change," Ernest quoted his older brother.

"Exactly."

"… Alright," Ernest muttered, surrendering already. There wasn't much of a choice he had either way. "If you want that though, I want a word in the process of choosing the girls." Plus, what were some sweet girls hanging around? He'd enjoy it! It'd be fun!

Nah. Ernest wasn't going to lie to himself—he had a plan on this, and it was going to be heck of lots of work.

"So, what's the plan?" Ernest leaned back. "Girls arrive a month before, and what else?"

"Sophia will oversee their education," Xander explained. "She'll also manage their general schedule."

Ernest mustered his sister who smiled. Xander probably hadn't gone to her first, but she rather insisted on it. Not that she'd be unfit for the position, but the job sounded a lot like something a Four would do, rather than a One.

Xander wasn't that accepting.

"Anything… we need to do?" Louis asked carefully.

Only now, Ernest turned his attention to his brother. If he wasn't used to Louis' dislike for public work, he'd be worried about the sheer lack of colour in the prince's face, but he wasn't. It was normal and happened round about once a week when Louis had to sit around in a TV studio for the report.

Talking about the report… "When will the Selection be announced?"

"Once final details have been cleared and everything is prepared."

Louis rose. "Excuse me," he muttered and hastily turned around to leave the dining room. Visibly worried, sweaty and probably wishing that their mother hadn't been killed by a rebel assassin. He hurried out of the room while his siblings watched him in silence.

"Oh welp," Ernest whispered under his breath.

Xander nodded to Sophia who immediately rose like the responsible, helpful older sister she was. Ernest began eating his dessert in silence, even though he noticed that Xander was watching him.

"So, tell me more," Ernest eventually said to break the silence.

"Sophia suggested—well, insisted—on having a month of time to grant the Selected time to accustomate and learn the basics. It'd also help a lot with arranging things. Sophia has been talking about clothes too much."

"It was your fault for letting her into it. She loves girls stuff."

"Of course she does." She never had a sister to play dress up with after all. Back when Victoria was still her old self, she had essentially been a younger version of Xander gender bent. A bit more outgoing, maybe, but definitely preferring studying over dress up games. "So you'll keep the public hanging for a month?"

Xander shook his head. "The forms are to be send out, if everything goes by plan, in the third week of February. The final decision on the Selected are to be made by March, so we can begin on March 1st."

"Two weeks to fill out the forms?" Ernest concluded.

"More one and a half. We have some time puffer because of the lady-in-waiting thing though, if there are problems. It'll be lots of work though."

"Lady-in-waiting? When mum and dad used to talk about their Selection, didn't mum mention that they were chosen afterwards?"

Xander nodded. "Yes, they are, but during that training month, there will be no public exposure. To explain the month between the end of the application period and the announcement, we'll say that potential lady-in-waiting candidates will be trained from there on, and parallel to the Selection, as well as security checks et cetera."

"Are you planning to push security checks in half a week?" Ernest questioned. "Is that possible?"

"I'm trusting Sophia's team with that, so yes. If anything pops up during the month, they can still be exchanged."

Ernest chuckled. "I am low-key nervous, and I'm just meant to look. You're calmness itself. That's so typical…" he laughed.

Xander shook his head. "A Selection won't be worse than raiding an enemy camp," he figured. Whenever Xander's experiences as soldier in the past years were truly going to help him, though, was questionable.

"Either way—until they arrive at Hill Castle, they will not be told that they have been chosen for the Selection. They won't be allowed to reveal that either."

"Please tell me you'll at least have the reactions to that recorded—if it's just for amusement."

Xander rose. "No," he decided. "That will not happen." He paused, hesitating. "One of these women will be my wife after all."

Ernest shrugged and rose as well. They probably should check up on Louis at some point—with the Selection, more cameras would follow them than usual. He wasn't going to like it. While heading back to his apartment in the palace, Ernest wondered what the rest of his family had to say about the plan.

/

 **Neighbourhood in Van Buren, Midston  
Gabriella "Rie" Jespersen**

If anyone was to come into the yellow house, they would probably be startled.

For the early evening, Gabriella Jespersen intended to read the letters that had arrived today, or rather, she was planning to. Unfortunately, the resident golden retriever, Doofus, had decided that it was a good idea to tackle the table. Rie had no idea how he managed to do that, but evidently, he had.

"How in the world did you do that?" Rie hissed at the dog who was now playing with the remains of her mother's kitchen plant. _This was going to be a fun afternoon_ , she thought annoyed.

However, it wasn't the mess of earth and the poor plant that'd surprise anyone coming in. It was, at least Rie would expect that, the fact that the twenty years old women was balancing herself on stumps rather than her legs, and seemed to be much more bothered by the dog and the plant than anything else.

"Look at the chaos you've made," she accused the dog. "Mum's right. You're a little meanie!"

It took some time to clean up the plant and then dump it outside onto the compost, but eventually, Doofus' mess was cleaned up. Alongside the dog (who still didn't seem to regret the mess he made), she eventually found the time to sit down and take care of the post.

"Bill, bill… Advertisement… Dad's payment check. Invitation to neighbour's birthday… Oh."

Among the usual letters was also a clean white letter envelope. Much whiter than the rest of the letters they had received, and with the golden (it was even shimmering a bit) Illéa emblem. Rie remembered the _Report_ that had been aired yesterday, and the rumours that even reached her.

They hadn't discussed the Selection a lot—there had been more interesting topics coming from the _Report_ , including the new Midston governor who intended to help veterans to readjust to their lives. Her parents had discussed the programme much more than the Selection.

Rie placed the white envelope aside and started working on the bills.

"I'm fine," she muttered to herself grumpy. "There's no need to baby me."

The bills were finished fairly quickly—there wasn't much, fortunately, and by the way the family's budgets looked like, they were fairly stable again. With her father's job's employer reaching stability again—even though slowly—it seemed good. As long as nothing broke or so, they'd probably get through the year alright. For the first time in a while, the finances were genuinely stable!

"But it could be better," Rie complained. The last letter she had gotten was from a job application. She had applied for the job a while ago, alongside others, and was glad to see that they at least responded. Rie wasn't naïve enough to hope for an acceptance—her chances of being employed as Eight were as high as her legs suddenly regrowing—and she was right.

"At least they came back to me," she told Doofus in a hideous attempt to be positive.

She reached out for the white envelope, with only vague memory of the _Report_. Since the Great Unrest, it wasn't broadcasted live anymore. The format had been changed, and it had been rare to see the royal family. Even the Queen, who had loved the spotlight, had disappeared. The report had mainly been warnings to the general population either way, alongside causality lists. Three years ago, her parents had been watching them anxiously.

Rie hadn't died. Only lost most of her legs on her first deployment.

" _To the House of Jespersen_ ," Rie read out loud. For no particular reason (Doofus wasn't going to listen), but she had the house to herself, so why not? " _The recent census has confirmed that at least one woman of eligible age currently resides in your home_."

Rie dropped the letter, confused. "When was the last census? That was forever ago, wasn't it? How many dead people are they messaging?"

Doofus barked, although probably because of a bird outside. Rie took it as agreement to her confusion.

" _We would like to make you aware of an upcoming opportunity to honour the great nation of Illéa._ " She paused. To some degree, she definitely had done that before as soldier in the Great Unrest. " _As our King, and past rulers have, His Royal Highness Crown Prince Xander of Ill_ _éa intends to marry a true Daughter of Illéa to continue the beloved tradition. If the eligible young woman is interested in becoming a possible bride to the Crown Prince and therefore a princess of Illéa, please fill the enclosed form out and return it to your local Province Services Office. One woman from each province will be drawn at random to meet the prince._

 _"The Selected will be invited and primarily reside at the Illéa Palace in Los Angeles during their stay. For the lack of possible income, the household of the Selected will be compensated for each week their relative is participating. For their service to the royal family, each Selected will be elevated to the caste Three if applicable, and to the caste Two, if she is to reach the Elite."_ She skimmed over the requirements besides gender and age. Nothing she didn't fit in, theoretically.

Rie rose her eyebrows. She knew that from the _Report_ , but the written formality of the letter was ridiculous. Her mother had briefly touched the last Selection yesterday—she had been eligible but Rie didn't know if she had even tried. Had the letter she had gotten been just as formal as this one? But then again, Rie had to admit that this wasn't out of place.

"Probably part of the spiel around royalty," she guessed. "The letter I got when my volunteering was accepted wasn't the closest to this."

It had been straightforward and serious—like the military was. Hadn't the Crown Prince been a soldier in the war too? She had heard the rumors that had only been confirmed much later during her training. He had enlisted around the same time as she had.

"Yeah," she nodded at the memory of the rumors. "It was a big thing because of the rising moral that came from it. He volunteered, even though he was among the very few who weren't in the draft."

She took the other part of the letter—equally white as the envelope and first paper. The form, Rie soon realized, was mainly contact information. It was only the back that proved that they needed more. The applicants were asked to introduce themselves.

"Can't they figure that out on their own, with their census?" Rie questioned. "… Well, maybe they need personal information for preparation? Introduction?"

She placed the letter onto the table and shook her head. It was approaching six o'clock—she had to take care of dinner rather than bother with second-guessing the organization of the Selection. Dinner was more important than the matter of an event that would probably not accept her.

The longer Rie thought about the possible background of the question, the more she wanted to try. The worst outcome she could see was not being accepted. She'd continue like she did before. If she won the lottery, then she would become a Three. Automatically and by law—no one could say something against her lack of legs. The money wouldn't be bad for her family either, so she wouldn't be a burden to them anymore, wouldn't she?

Her parents returned home in a good mood. It _was_ payday for her father after all. Even though both were exhausted from work, her mother was speaking about the new Midston governor at whose estate she was employed as gardener.

"His daughter is applying for the Selection," she pointed out. "Apparently, among the forms, the royal family also intends to look for possible ladies-in-waiting. I saw it, and it asks for a—"

"A personal introduction," Rie interrupted, still chewing on her dinner. She nodded to the letter that was now among the other bills and letters again. "I read it. I'm considering trying."

"Please, you'd never win," her father joked. No offense—Rie knew that he didn't mean it. "Who would choose someone who eats broccoli with tomato sauce?"

"Well, at least I don't eat melon on pizza."

"Melon on pizza should be considered a crime!"

"Then I'll definitely try," Rie shot back.

"The essay isn't for that alone though, I guess," her mother pointed out. "I guess it's going to influence one's chances. At least otherwise, the girl wouldn't have discussed it so much."

"So, it's no real lottery?"

"I doubt it, honestly," her mother replied. "You couldn't have rebels in the Selection, can you?"

"I hope so," Rie laughed. The idea of a rebel in the Selection was offending, on so many levels. "I'm gonna try either way," she shrugged. "The worst that could happen is that I won't get in."

There wasn't much her mother could oppose. They'd take the form to the office on Monday.

Rie forgot the form very soon—it fell into the category of job applications for whom she didn't even expect a response. So, it surprised her when, on one of the last days of February, someone asked to see her in connection to it.

"Rie!" her mother called again. With the rain storm going on outside, she wasn't working.

"Coming, coming," she grumbled as answer, wheeling herself in her wheel chair to the front door. She was faster than Doofus who followed her eagerly.

"Good evening, Miss Jespersen, I assume?" A stranger in fine uniform was standing in the door.

"That's me," Rie replied defiant.

To her surprise, the stranger (who evident by the black, fancy looking car probably was well off, or working for someone well off) didn't react a bit to her tone. "It is a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I've come to inform you that you have been invited to join the training for maids-in-waiting and ladies-in-waiting for the future queen."

Oh. She hadn't thought of that outcome. She wasn't even sure what a 'lady-in-waiting' did. Maid-in-waiting sounded like a lady's maid, but considering the background, she probably was wrong.

"You are aware of the fact that I don't have legs?" Rie asked skeptical.

"Yes, you've made that clear in your application."

"You read it?" she asked.

"I did need some form of address, ma'am," the man replied politely. He probably worked for the royal family or so. "I sincerely doubt that the team working on this has overlooked this… fact. And by all respect, a personal suggestion—accepting the offer is, by far, the best thing you could do."

"I'm not exactly a trained Six, you know."

"A lady-in-waiting is not a servant. Similar to the Selection, the training will acquire you the caste Three under any circumstances. It is an honored position. I acknowledge that this is a difficult decision to make, especially out of the nowhere, but," he slipped out of the formal, polite voice, "my daughter is only three years younger than you are. She is a Six, and if she had been given this opportunity, I would have urged her to take it. It's probably the best you will ever have. The job pays far too good for the amount of work involved too," he added with a wink.

So he was a servant at the palace.

"… When do you need my decision?"

"Preferably by March 1st, when you are asked to arrive in Angeles. I can leave my phone number, or you could contact the Province Services Office."

If whoever selected the people asked to join the training believed she could do it, why not try? She didn't seem to have much to lose here either. Rie shook her head. "I'm in. Tell me the details."

/

 **Border of Finance District, Toronto, Labrador  
Leda Conner**

The sound of clicking heels was dim on the broken asphalt. Leda dodge a piece of debris that probably wouldn't deal well with the heels. Most of the district she was walking through was still being restored, even when the Great Unrest hadn't been so big for the last year—it just had been the largest cities by January of last year after all—but the fact that she still rarely saw a Two or Three on the street, the fear was evident.

Her mother was waiting in front of the restaurant they had spoken about before. This was more because she intended to celebrate a great success at work that probably would be good for their personal finances than anything else.

"Good evening, how was work?" her mother asked, not particularly interested in the answer.

Polite small talk. "Good, yours?"

"Also good." Silence.

Well, Leda didn't like that. "Oh, well, this co-worker of mine—the one who dates that Two, remember?—she seems to be considering signing up for the Selection either way. Says a lot about their relationship." The gossip was not new—it had been about a week since the Selection was announced and her co-worker spent the whole day at work on her form, but she was curious about her mother's opinion on it. They didn't have much time to discuss it over the past week. Too much going on in the family business. Their newest case had been the only thing they talked about.

The finance consultant wasn't particularly interested in gossip though. "Stupid," her mother commented disinterested.

"I'm wondering if she wasn't using that to get attention onto the fact that she's dating a Two. She's been complaining about not getting a raise in forever." Ridiculous, considering the fact that just having a job required luck ever since the Unrest.

"She's been complaining about promotions too, but I spoke to the team boss. He agrees with me that if she's so involved with that Two, she'll be married earlier or later, so we agree that the promotion would be wasted on her." Or, well, she thought so, and she talked said boss into agreeing. Details.

"Sure," her mother glanced onto her phone. No 'nonsense' for her, as always.

They entered the restaurant, an Italian one, and asked for a table for two. They ordered drinks, before her mother began to discuss work with her. They talked about this and that, trailing to the newest talk of their occupation.

"Are you signing up for the Selection?" her mother wondered when the conversation had gone over to the discussion on who would cook dinner when, and if they didn't want to do her brother's favourite food for next Friday.

It probably had been the connection from Friday to the report and the Selection that made her ask that.

"… Probably not," Leda replied after a moment. "Not my type, I think."

"The prince?"

"The idea," Leda replied. "It's a sad affair, isn't it? They don't get the opportunity to choose who they want to spend their life with the normal way."

"But there wouldn't be a particular reason that'd force you into staying for the win," her mother pointed out.

"What do you mean?" Leda asked. Her mother wasn't going to talk her into the Selection, was she? There were so many reasons against that… Even if she wasn't going to be in for the win.

"Think of the connections you'd make. The royal family could be your client someday. Our client."

"Larchen never had a good opinion on the royal family and their finances," Leda pointed out crunching with her teeth. Her old mentor, Larchen Gillard, had been the royal treasurers a long while ago, in the late years of King Henry's reign.

"Wasn't he fired by the King though?" her mother remarked.

"That was undeserved," Leda insisted. "Larchen always worked to the best of his ability—which is very good." He was a master in his field. "It was a mistake on the King's part. He was new to the job after all."

"Of course," her mother nodded. "But it's still an undoubtable fact that you'd make good connections. An interesting experience too, I suppose, and probably an interesting source of information that could be useful."

Leda took another bite of her dinner. Her mother was right. She'd just need to stay in for a bit to reap the reward from it. But there was one issue she definitely had.

"The spotlight though. Surely, the Selection would be broadcasted a lot and put me into unwanted spotlight?"

Her mother nodded. "Yes, but that would be a necessary evil. Look at the big picture, Lee."

"What about work?"

"I'm fairly sure that if you were to be Selected, your boss would need to give you the time off without problems on your side," her mother pointed out. "I believe that during the last Selection, that was the case."

"I meant the family business, mum,"

"Ah," her mother shook her head. "I've got the handle on that, it's fine. The exposure might be helpful for the business too." They'd probably get more clients but she couldn't help but be worried about that proposal. "Plus, I was chatting with a client today, and rumour has it that they're also looking for ladies-in-waiting trainees. There are enough Twos and Threes in our province to let them be Selected, you'd be more likely to be chosen for that training."

Leda rose an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

Her mother nodded. "I'm working with someone at the Provinces Service Office. They're pre-sorting applications there, into Selection, lady-in-waiting and less likely candidates. I'm sure I could talk them into putting you onto the lady-in-waiting pile. No spotlight but the other pros," her mother grinned.

Leda mirrored the grin and shook her head. "You should have bought that up before. I could ask Larchen and my professors from university for recommendations too."

Her mother nodded. "But you only so much time left, Lee."

"I'll sit down when we're back home."

Even though there were other things Leda would have liked to do, her mother was right. She probably needed to hurry a bit. The letter had already been placed on the 'discard' pile of the family's paperwork, but fortunately, she hadn't found time to throw it away.

"Miss Leda Conner… 26.05.2396…" She filled in her address and contact data. "Oh. They don't want to know my caste…? What about photos?" When the rumours of the Selection had first reached her co-worker, she had been talking a lot about how castes and photos were important. So said co-worker definitely wasn't on top of things.

She planned a bit for the introduction she was meant to write, making sure it'd fit the profile of a lady-in-waiting rather than a Selected who was put into the limelight. She contacted her former mentor and professor for the references, and was glad to hear that both replied on the same evening.

Eventually, once her first draft was done, she had her mother sit down with her to go through it. She hadn't written it on the actual form yet—she'd definitely sleep over the text and go through it again.

" _As a Selected, I believe my skills will be a welcome treat within the walls of the Royal Palace_ ," she read out. " _I recently graduated the Toronto University with a degree in economics, and during my time I interned under the former royal treasurer Mr Larchen Gillard_."

"If Gillard was fired, is it so intelligent to name him though?" her mother pointed out.

"It'll show that I know people in the right direction and have worked with them," Leda replied, but noted it down either way. "Plus, I hope that the Crown Prince knows better than his father."

" _The internship taught me a thing or two about hard work, organization, and planning. I often observed him working with important clients and learned meaningful ways of communication. Whenever it would be to simply be a conversation partner, to strike deal and contracts, or try to find a better way to communicate, I had great success. These are valuable skills that could be used to help any residents of the palace—to make them more comfortable, feel welcomed, and to help in solving personal issues."_

Her mother nodded approving.

" _I am a firm believer of good communication, and that communication is team effort. Otherwise, I am also able to provide assistance to accountants, review figures and reports, bring new insights to existing problems, and simply be a friend."_

"Good," her mother approved. "If you're so keen on not being in the spotlight, then emphasizing the friend aspect is important.

" _It is important to me to be honest, open and emphatic—this isn't just a job but a life style after all."_

One more time, her mother grinned.

" _Other skills include fluency in French and Chinese, a mean swing with the bat during baseball games—if there's ever a need of an extra player—or a jogging partner in a morning run_.

 _"I do not want to be a white-collar worker like my parents,"_ Leda continued. " _There are few transparent jobs in the market nowadays, and I am a firm believer into putting my skills to use in a meaningful way. I bring a variety of skills to the table, and hope to be given an opportunity to show them. I welcome any opportunity to learn, and am looking forward to your reply."_

"You are aware that they don't reply?" her mother questioned. "They just announce the names on the report for the Selected—who knows how it work for the ladies-in-waiting."

"Mere politeness," Leda replied. " _Please see the attached documents containing written recommendations by Mr Larchen Gillard and Professor Zindra Cos. Cordially, Miss Leda Conner."_

"I'd change a few phrases, but it sounds good to me. We'll discuss it tomorrow, and see how it'll go, alright?"

Leda nodded. "Sure. I'll need to wait for the recommendations either way."

She rose, putting the letter and application onto the kitchen table. It was late enough, and she needed sleep for work.

/

 **Downtown, Nashville, Carolina  
Pricilla "Cilla" Chamberlain**

" _Hoping for the end to come, wishing for peace to return_ ," Cilla's voice carried, through the mic of the smaller club in which she was performing today. " _Once more time_ "

It was the last song for today, which was probably a good thing. She was tired, and could feel the strain on her voice by now. She finished the song on her guitar, and allowed herself a moment on the stage. The song wasn't her favorite from the album, but best received by the owner of the club.

She bowed, although not everyone effectively applauded. Thanked, briefly talked to the owner who hired her for the evening and ended up outside at eleven o'clock. She stretched, her guitar case on her back, and strolled towards her car.

"Time to head home," she hummed. She started the car radio—it was eleven o'clock and she didn't expect anything interesting to be broadcasted as she began driving through her hometown, heading back home.

Her favorite radio station was broadcasting music, interrupted by some advertisement, and more music. There was a particular reason why Cilla liked the station so much—she had worked with it just a few days ago—and she soon found herself listening to one of her own songs.

"And that was Pricilla Chamberlain with 'Peace One More Time', from her newest album, 'Countryside'!" the radio host spoke. "The country singer-songwriter just from your hometown, Nashville!"

The host was fun, and immediately began chatting, even if it was late, alongside his guest, Linnet Chamberlain. Usually a Hollywood actress, she had come back to her hometown to spend time with her family before the movie promotions would start.

"Your little girl has grown up, Linnet!" the host laughed.

She could hear her mother's joined laughter as well. Cilla smiled, as her mother began chatting about family—the movie she was coming back from was directed by her husband after all—and work, hinting this and that about the movie.

She yawned—it had been a way too long since she woke up this morning.

"Is your girl going to join the Selection?" the report asked her mother, gaining Cilla's attention from the road. Which Selection? Which girl?

"Oh," her mother laughed. "I have no idea. I haven't seen her in weeks—she's picking me up today though, so I'll make sure and ask."

The conversation went on, but Cilla's curiosity was drawn to the Selection-thingy. It took her a moment to connect the word with history or something like that. The word rung a bell, but strict private school or not, she wasn't that good with history.

"Oooh!" she called out into the empty car when she made the connection. "Right, the Selection—of course! That thing, yeah," she nodded to herself. "The thing that reminds me far too much of _The Bachelor_ , huh."

She had been invited to the bachelor once, but denied it. That had been a year ago, and a year ago, there still had been enough fighting in Angeles that she hadn't been too keen on travelling there.

"Jeez," she muttered. The memory of the months when her parents had been working in Los Angeles on a much more peaceful form of fighting, originating from the late Queen's ideas. Producing what was propaganda to end the fighting, her parents had been working in Hollywood—fortunately, they survive the Siege of Angeles.

You couldn't say the same thing about the Queen.

"It's a bit weird to find someone to marry in a bunch of random strangers though," Cilla thought the obvious. "I guess it's better exposure than _The Bachelor_ though…" She added in her conversation with herself.

"But since when is there going to be a Selection?" she wondered. It was Friday, so it probably had been on the _Report_ that discussed the issue.

Well, not issue, was it?

She changed the radio frequency, looking for the Public Access Channel. It took a while to find it (she didn't always listen to it—you could find a summary online, and she was still used to the normal war talk on the channel rather than interesting stuff). Sure, there had been conflict in Carolina too, but she never really saw that outside newsfeed.

"Why ever the rebels thought that violence would convince anyone to join their cause… I don't know," Cilla thought while skimming.

She reached the Public Access Channel a bit afterwards, and found herself in the middle of talk about restorations in the part of Nashville that had been hit rather badly. She turned the volume down—it'd probably take a while for the channel to repeat the juicy bits from the report.

Not much happened for the rest of the drive. By the time she reached home, the repetition ended. Sure, Cilla could have stayed in the car and listened, but if that was the case, she might as well go inside and check the recording with a video attached to it.

The Chamberlain's main residence was, most certainly, not the most Two-looking building. A sweet ranch attached to land, including the animals that were living with them. The family was living a good life here, and it probably had been the nearby military base that had protected them most.

Nowadays, the soldiers were slowly returning home and the business going to and from the base was empty. Cilla had only seen footage of it once, when her sister had reported from there after a unit from the base took out a nearby rebel camp. That was two years ago already, Cilla realized.

"I'm home!" she called, expecting her sister to be home. She didn't particularly expect an answer, though.

Not that she essentially wanted to see her, though. Cilla, at first, intended to check out the living room and look for the _Report_ on TV, but the letters—placed in front of the entrance—caught her attention. Only one was left, and that one had the Illéa emblem of it.

"Huh?" Cilla hadn't seen such a letter since the formal thank you her parents had been given from the local government for their aid in promoting peace and a rebel surrender. She picked it up, figuring out that it was addressed to the "House Chamberlain". "So formal," she noted.

She opened the letter, not bothering to think of the rest of the family, and realised that it was already opened. Probably her mother or sister, she concluded, and proceeded to skim through the letter.

"It _is_ the Selection," she concluded, and picked up the attached form. She snatched a pen from the table, and filled in the details quickly.

"Howdy, my name is Cilla. Maybe you heard of me, Pricilla Chamberlain. Well, good news—we're the same person! If you heard my name, you know that I'm a decent singer, and I even produced an album…" she began writing.

Only when she nearly folded the form and placed it on the counter to be taken to the Province Services Office, she realised a problem. "… Right, I probably should tell my agent."

Said agent was quickly called, and asked only one question. "Why do you want to join the Selection, Cilla?"

A valid point, she realised. Why wouldn't she? Wasn't that the thing?

"I know that you're one of many eligible girls, and that your chance is only one to whatever," her agent reminded her, "but if you get in, you couldn't do much music itself. I mean, I understand that it would give you exposure,"

"Oh, I forgot that."

"Right… It'll be exposure, but you can't focus on music itself. I know that you're working on your album and that you want your music to reach people, but if you were a Selected... Wouldn't you worry that people are just curious about one of thirty-five girls rather than you as a singer?"

"I wouldn't think so," she replied. "I mean, if my mum appears in a TV advert, people curious about her probably wouldn't check her movies out because of the TV advert. Music is part of me, Selected or not," Cilla replied. "Plus, you're right, the chances aren't that big. I won't get selected, so who cares?"

"The problem I have more is the lady-in-waiting training. I would be impolite not to accept, but you would be away from any work for a while. Time you need for promotion and music," her agent reminded her. "Sure, there's always _Abby Moon_ ," she reminded her of the ever-popular singer who once had been a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, "but I'm not sure if that's such a good idea…"

"Oh, we'll see," Cilla laughed. "I won't be taken either way," she added.

A bit later, she took the invitation either way. It sounded fun, she said, and maybe she'd make some good friends. She'd just see how it went, and update her agent on how it looked. Besides, she'd probably be able to see her dad again who was still working in Angeles.

/

 **Author's Note:**

 **As you probably can see in comparison to Xander's POV, I want to show that each character views the world slightly differently and has a different perception of the truth. There isn't really a bad guy (or…? I do have a To-Kill list xD); everyone is good from their POV. So if two characters contradict each other, it doesn't mean that they're lying.**

 **These vaguely 1.5k (originally 1k, but I got off track with these soooo) long scenes are going to accompany the introducing chapters. I hope that I'll be able to write the plot in a way that you don't need them—they're mainly for me to get used to the characters and check if I'm writing them correctly, but also because my people don't even get to see their OCs written, and I'd like to give everyone a bit of time. It's going to be repetitive though.**

 **In this chapter, you're meeting** Gabriella "Rie" Jespersen **by** Michelle The Editor, Leda Connor **by** Exotence **and** Pricilla "Cilla" Chamberlain **by** ChillyIce **.** **Everyone'll get their turn—these were just the first three forms I got back.**

 **One little thing—for the people who've send in characters/are doing that, the section "Skills:" includes spoken languages. As of now, I'm assuming that only Leda Conner speaks more than English (French & Chinese, mentioned above). If that's not the case with your OC, please tell me! **

**Once I accept your character fully (as in, add to the website & my profile), I'll invite you to the Pinterest board too. Feel free to fill in their section, or share your board with me. If you don't want to fill in the Section, I'll do it.**

 **A big thanks to Abizeau for proofreading!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Sophia bugged Ernest on what is making him feel so grim, and Xander announced the Selection to his siblings at dinner, alongside details. Ernest was surprisingly easily convinced, but Louis, at first, didn't take the news very well. The chapter was set a day ago. The scenes of the Selected are not set parallel._

 **Chapter 3**

»It's all a question of money«

 **Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Prince Louis of Illéa**

There was quite a lot needed to get Louis to enter the parts of the palace that were used for the government of Illéa. He didn't belong here. He was an outsider. Yet, whenever he wanted or not, he had to be here. He saw Xander's point, but he also saw so many problems in it. Why couldn't _he_ just continue as he had before? He was _third_ in line to the throne! Xander wasn't just going to die—he had proven that in the Unrest—and even if, they'd first need to get rid of Ernest. Plus, people might as well riot on Sophia not being behind Ernest to inherit the throne, when Swendway and Britain didn't differentiate by gender. They liked her _so much more_ than him. There was no way he would sit on the throne, so why did he need to bother with the Selection—something related to being the _heir_?

" _Mother would expect me to_ ," he thought. Make sure Xander, Sophia and Ernest didn't do something stupid. Even if they had Jonathan to watch over their shoulder, he wasn't sure if he trusted them with such an important matter.

If mother just was here, she'd make his father prevent the mess that was inevitably going to happen. But without her? He was useless, evidently.

He knocked on the door of the conference room and was asked to come in. He recognised his sister and two brothers sitting over various papers and files. His grandfather, Jonathan Wilde, spoke to his oldest brother.

"Come in," Xander told him from inside.

Louis did so. Wordless, he joined the others, glancing at the files and papers on the table before doing anything. Many were handwritten notes, others were paper sheets. He recognised figures and the names of the Illéan provinces.

"What is this all?" he asked careful.

"Possible ideas on the outlines for eligible women," Jonathan, their grandfather replied. "We've set the age by now, and will go with the other outlines of Adrian's Selection, in terms of who is eligible." As father of the winner, he probably knew them rather well.

"Then there's the timeline and the security checks, alongside how we select them," Sophia added. "Lots of stuff to do!" As usual, she beamed with energy. However she could trust _Ernest_ with this, he didn't understand.

"I agree with the suggestion to only give the top ten of each province a security check," Xander pointed out. "It'll save time and money spent on that. If, in the unlikely case, all of them turn out to be… unfit, we can still do more."

"The guidelines of the actual Selection of girls though, we aren't sure," Ernest added. To him, it was 'who looks best' and 'who has the biggest boobs', wasn't it?

Okay—they had a point with discussing this. They needed someone who would be capable of shouldering the duties of the royal families _but_ still appease the ungrateful poor people who claimed that they were the ones with the problems. Indeed not an easy choice, especially considering how ignorant some people were.

"We need a new census," Jonathan insisted.

"A census won't answer the question whenever someone fits Xander's ideals," Sophia pointed out.

"I am referring to the possibility of dead women receiving a form," Jonathan noted.

"Doing another census is expensive," Xander insisted. "The money can be used to rebuild what was damaged and improve the support systems. That's more important than a new census."

Time to be useful, huh? He agreed with Jonathan, but knowing Xander, he'd get his will done. Just like with going to war, the pretty heir would get what he wanted. "We could have someone run a program that compares the census data from 2412 with the lists of the causality lists," Louis suggested. "Both military and civil lists."

"What about missing people?" Jonathan asked. "Imagine getting a letter for your missing sister."

Louis wasn't sure whenever Jonathan did this on purpose—reminding them of the time when Victoria had been gone—but it had the desired effect for sure. Especially in Xander's expression, Louis could see sadness and guilt. Was he blaming himself for Victoria? What about their mother? She had died because of him! Ridiculous, but normal. Louis didn't react.

"If they are recorded missing," Louis pointed out coldly, "then they are in the police systems. If not, sorry, but they can't expect that we telepathically are aware of who is at home and who isn't." Jonathan needed to think through his arguments more—Xander was winning this!

"What about addresses changing?" Jonathan asked.

"That's… that's indeed a point," Louis admitted. "Then I agree. A census would be needed."

Sophia shook her head. "No, the money is needed in the support systems."

"Taxes?" Louis suggested. He suppressed a smile. His mother would be proud if she saw him engaging so well in the discussion!

"No!" Ernest shook his head. "The people need money to recover."

"But do you have anything to suggest elsewise?"

"I'd say," Ernest began, "that since the forms are to be sent back to the Province Services Office either way, we might as well point out that for anyone who did not receive a form for whatever reason but considers herself eligible, they can go there and pick up a copy. They might get wet or similar in a household accident too. Problem solved—we push it on possible postal issues, if anyone asks. "

"Why not just have them go and pick up the forms from the offices directly?" Louis suggested. "That'd be less money spent on sending them too." That should make Xander, Sophia and Ernest happy, shouldn't it?

Sophia shook her head. "First of all, it's a tradition. Secondly, the lines will be long just to identify if someone submits an invalid form. If you had them stand in line and pick up the form, go fill it out and come back, you would have even longer lines. Consider the poor workers in the offices."

Jonathan shook his head. "I agree with Sophia, but Ernest's suggestion won't work either. We'd end up blaming postal services all over the country."

"It's better than spending the money," Sophia insisted. "It's all a question of money."

"Let's accept it," the Prince Regent pointed out. "We have a choice between excuses and money taken away from support systems. We need it desperately for health care, to name an example. If the people genuinely complain, then we can tell them the decision we had to make. Period."

Jonathan scanned at his oldest grandson questioning. "… Alright." He was the General of the Army—not the person who was in charge of the healthcare system. Xander however wasn't that either. Sure, he was the Prince Regent, but only because he was the oldest born. Was he qualified just because of that? Most seemed to believe so, but Louis wasn't sure.

"Alright, so, no census it is. Back to the actual topic," Sophia emphasised. "We need to discuss who will be taken in consideration for the top ten—and who actually is Selected. Ideas?"

The family fell silent. Louis began to read the current draft of the form. Why weren't they asking for the caste? A Three was going to be much better educated than a Seven. Fives rarely tended to attend schools at all, preferring home schooling and specialised training in their arts, so how would they make sure that they didn't end up with a bunch of people who believed into stupid parent-induced ideas? People who couldn't do basic mathematics or knew history?

"Are you sure such an essay will be the right source?" he asked carefully.

Sophia was the first one to answer. It had to be her idea, and Xander had just jumped on the train. He probably would be talking to a wall if he tried to warn them. "It'll give us a basic idea. Plus, we can do background research too."

"But what if someone is just polite and doesn't want to brag?"

"Then we have a character issue," Xander pointed out. "You can't be 'just polite and reserved' if you are at the peak of the hierarchy. You need to be confident into your strengths and be confident to work with them."

"It's like a job application," Ernest added.

Jonathan chuckled. "What do you know of that?"

The second prince just rolled his eyes.

"We need somewhere to start from," Sophia added. "There is no way to magically access every woman who'd like to join, so we need to make cuts. We'll end up with thirty-five women either way, so we need to do cuts."

Louis wanted to sigh. What a hypocrite his sister was. She wanted this nonsense to allow the lower castes to participate, then she shouldn't act like this. Did she seriously believe that a _Five_ could write a convincing application? They probably couldn't even spell correctly.

"I would say that anyone naming specific skills of usability should be considered," Jonathan insisted. "You said something about soft skills, Sophia. I see what you mean, but normal skills should be considered too. Languages, degrees, experience."

"So," Ernest pointed out grimly, "you're saying that if you're a dancer, you won't be considered?"

"No, I'm not," Jonathan shook his head. "They might still bring in a few noteworthy skills."

"I agree with grandpa though," Sophia nodded. "He's got a point. Anyone speaking additional languages that are commonly spoken—Chinese for example—should be put into the next round."

"Round?" Xander questioned. "What are you planning?"

"Have multiple rounds in which eliminations happen, until we only get… Ten percent from the original one-hundred percent? First, you check them on validity—is the person in the age range, of Illéan descent and doesn't have a criminal background." Evidently, she left out the 'virgin' aspect. Even if it was law, it was one rarely pursued unless it made headlines, or a child was born.

Louis did not agree in overlooking such an aspect, but neither Ernest (who most certainly had broken the law before) nor Xander opposed. Jonathan kept silent too… He wanted to shake his head in disbelief.

"The second would be if people have language skills—we could make a list of clear passers—or provable experience. Like a degree or job experience in a useful field. Public work, law, politics, international communication," Xander concluded.

"Yes, but you leave an opening for women who might bring soft skills or other noticeable aspects. Qualifications, noticeable loyalty to the Throne, such things, for example," Sophia explained.

Well, going by the sounds of it, they weren't making too much of a mess, Louis concluded gladly. The royals continued to run through possible guidelines before deciding on most of them, and the meeting among the family members was dismissed. Louis still wasn't sure whenever he understood why Xander didn't employ the advisors for this, but apparently, they had better things to do, leaving this in their hands.

Louis decided to retreat into his sitting room with an aged book in his hands, but also the newest edition of _Il_ _léa Today_. For someone who disliked the liars of the press as much as he did, he was far too curious about the news. He skimmed through the news, reading that many people were still missing, presumed dead and found many relatives asking for help.

"Stupid," Louis muttered.

The commoners apparently were too stupid to realize that most of the 'missing people'—sometimes full families, had been considered enough of rebel supporters to be imprisoned? Apparently not.

"Maybe Xander is better in hiding them than I anticipated," he concluded.

Xander had a point with keeping their estimated numbers quiet. It made the rebels appear like a little fraction of people—they were, yes, but the truth was different—who were crazy and violent. Most confirmed deaths came from crossfire situations—engaged by both sides—and only the faces known by the public were fully confirmed to be executed. They were too.

"She is dead," he reminded himself. "Mother's murderer was executed too."

He never had asked for details. He couldn't. He only knew the rebel leader's code name, Raven, but that was more than enough of attention he wanted to give the woman who had taken out the most important woman in Louis' life. Stupid Xander had failed back then, during the Siege of Angeles and his mother's safe house. He still didn't understand how they could have gotten information on the house—only the royal family knew of! The rebels were terrible, but had Xander been better, faster and stronger, then she'd be alive.

But he wasn't. Lysandre of Illéa was dead.

" _I guess that's why I don't trust him anymore,_ " Louis thought. " _Alongside the fact that my idiot brother—the heir—had to enlist as soldier. We could have ended up with Ernest as heir apparent…"_

But other than the missing people? Illéa was heading towards peace again, he realised relieved. He placed the newspaper aside and opened the book he intended to read. One more time, he shook his head and sighed. From the pocket of his suit jacket, he grabbed a cigarette and the lighter. This whole thing, the Selection? He couldn't believe that it wouldn't end in a disaster.

People were probably going to complain about him _existing_ , at some point.

/ / /

 **Seaside Neighbourhood, Portaviro, Bonita  
Nereida Statten**

Nereida Statten returned home skipping happily. She was still humming the music she had been listening to the whole day during rehearsals, but was glad that she didn't need to perform this evening. The play in which she was a dancer was fun and all, but to Nereida, the day was over and she could go and see her family.

"Nereida, there's a letter for you!" her younger sister, Sirena Statten said, leaning in the door, the tease written all over her face. She never had stopped doing that—never ever. "I already almost thought you two broke up!" Sirena complained. "You're The Girl with the Rich Boyfriend, and…"

Nereida shook her head laughing and snatched the letter from her sister's hand. "No offense, but I'll take this," she told her and dropped her bag. "When is dinner?"

"Later," Sirena replied, "Mum's late. Come on, now open it! Oscar hasn't mailed you in forever! Seriously, when did his last letter come? How busy is he in Angeles?"

"January," Nereida replied, without a hint of worry why it took her boyfriend so long to respond. It was the last week of February, and she had been worried that her letter had gotten lost. Hopefully it hadn't. "I'll go to the beach," she told her sister who was visibly disappointed.

The beach, just a block away but by far not as striking as the images Oscar had shown her from Los Angeles, or just any beaches in the area of her hometown, but it was a place she loved nonetheless. She sat down, leaning against one massive rock. The delicate writing of her full name—Oscar always insisted on addressing letters to _Miss Nereida Rue Statten_ —and her address made her smile. When Oscar had first started writing letters, her parents had been amazed by the expensive paper. She had compared the Selection letter they had received (and discarded—Nereida was taken) last week. Last year, it felt like he had written one a day at first. Maybe he had been filling the boredom of having returned home but being unable to do anything for 'security reasons' (he always put them in quotation marks; he didn't agree) due to the Siege of Angeles—even when he had returned a month after it happened.

Nereida noticed that unlike usually, Oscar hadn't sent her paper to write one back to him. It was sweet of him to insist on giving Nereida the paper; he seemed to believe it was his fault that they couldn't afford two mansions with a swimming pool each, and she never complained about the imposing paper she probably couldn't even find in her hometown.

" _Hey Tiny_ ," she read. " _Well, I better be formal with this. Gotta convince the lady, don't I? Dearest Nereida, I need you to do me a big favour._ "

She recognised his handwriting (far more beautiful than hers and Sirena's combined), but was taken in surprise. A favour? What could she do for him when he didn't include a letter back? Had he forgotten?

" _For the last month, I have been incredibly busy. I apologise for not answering, but I needed to make sure that what I am about to tell you will work,"_ she read _. "As I told you, I have returned home ages ago, but recently, something happened. Something that will give me the opportunity to introduce you to my family_."

Nereida giggled. It had been ages ago since her mother first suggested that Oscar maybe was considering proposing to her. Even though he always dodged the public like the pest, it had become the talk of the town that Nereida Statten, the adopted Asian dancer, was dating a young rich gentleman coming from Los Angeles. A wealthy Three dating a Five—the talk of the town, and people wanted to know if the stranger wasn't just having fun for a while. Oscar wasn't—Nereida knew that. When she had first introduced him to her family, Oscar had been a nerve wreck—but ended up charming his mother with politeness that definitely came from his Two status, and the follow casualness and fun she loved in him. He had been adorably cute.

"I _t will sound strange, but I will be able to explain you everything when you are in Los Angeles. As you probably know by now (even if you don't ever watch the Report), the Selection is about to happen. I signed you up, and (hopefully, this will arrive in time) you will be visited by a messenger from the palace on the last day of February. He'll offer you a position in the lady-in-waiting training program. You need to accept, and play along with whatever will follow. You will probably believe that I'm crazy or similar when you learn what will happen there, but I promise you that it isn't. It's part of my plan."_

Nereida remembered that he had told her that while his family was probably among the families that was most open towards lower castes, but he had told her that others might not be so open. While again and again, Oscar had insisted that she'd be alright, he also repeated that he couldn't just take her with him.

Apparently, his family was difficult.

" _I need you to pretend that I broke up with you. I trust that to pretend to be sad—think of what we talked about, and imagine your family dead. Go to the Provinces Service Office and sign up—if anyone ask, you want revenge on me. What you write doesn't matter—I have someone to do the necessary stuff here in Los Angeles. I will come and see you as soon as possible when you are there_."

Why did he need her to pretend that he broke up? Because she needed a reason to join the Selection? Oh, of course! It made sense. Nereida beamed cheerfully. This whole plan sounded fascinating, but honestly? She had seen Oscar come up with stranger ideas. Plus, the stories he had told her from home made her sure that her favourite playwright wasn't making up stuff.

" _I am not sure what my family plans for me, but if you agree with the two major "Will you participate?" questions you will be given, everything will turn out. I can explain everything then. I'm sorry for being so vague, but I need to be vague enough in case your sister reads this letter. I don't trust her to keep some things secret_. _Don't take this letter. Someone could find it_. _My contact at the palace is Prince Ernest, so if you ever get in trouble ask for him_."

What was the secret Oscar couldn't tell Sirena, if he agreed with telling her that he could mess with the Selection lottery? How had he come to meet the prince? Nereida read the lines again. She didn't even know what he looked like. All royals, actually, with exception of the youngest princess. Photos of her when she had been missing even reached her.

" _Submit this form or another, it doesn't matter_. Make sure no one finds this letter; throw it into the sea or burn it." the letter ended. " _I love you. Please trust me. Everything will be fine. I will see you in LA_. _Oscar_."

She turned around the letter, finding nothing. Within the letter had been a filled form (with Oscar probably trying to write like she did) that he probably had prepared for her. She couldn't submit this though—alone the wording of the one question was above her standard.

"I can grab a new one at the office," she remembered and jumped onto her legs. If she wanted to do this today, then she better hurry!

No one questioned her at the office, but Nereida made sure to put on the saddest face she could. The mere idea of her family hurt was terrible, but when she strolled back home, she had to suppress giggles.

Oscar always tended to be secretive about his home, but this? It was almost the treasure hunt she liked to do as a child! At home, she joined her family for dinner with a, hopefully convincing, dim expression.

"What did Oscar write?" her mother asked curious. "You've been out so long…"

" _Better out with it as soon as possible_ ," Nereida thought. "He broke up with me," she blurted and glared at her dinner. Would they spot the lie? Weren't they going to get into trouble if someone realised that they hadn't broken up?

"He did what?" her mother called out. "Show me the letter!"

"I… threw it into the sea," Nereida replied.

Her family bought it. "I can't believe that!"

It took a while for Nereida to make up a (hopefully believable) story on what he had told her. A formal, short letter asking her not to contact him again. She threw some things that people said when they first started dating into it—Oscar was just fooling around and never genuinely cared for her, they were too different—and obviously, given the lack of letter or reason for her to lie, they believed her.

"So, I signed up for the Selection," she added. "As revenge, you know?"

"Well, he certainly isn't good enough for _you_ , then!" Her mother agreed, but Nereida noticed a bit sadness. She had liked Oscar genuinely—Nereida knew that too.

 _Sorry mum, I'll tell you the truth soon._

"Absolutely," her father agreed.

 _Sorry dad, I'm sure it'll make sense._

On the next day, she was sitting in a plane to Angeles, curious what was going to happen with her. Too bad though that she missed the fact that Sirena had read the letter, and was absolutely going to tell her parents of it. Too bad that soon afterwards, Nereida's contact home was going to be as limited as her knowledge about Oscar's actual identity.

/ / /

 **Province Services Office, Dayton, Kent  
Rowan Johansson**

Just like Bonita and Nereida's hometown, Kent hadn't been hit. Sure, Bonita was one lucky province with no real destruction, but around the area in which Rowan Johansson grew up hadn't been hit much either. Except for a few towns at the border to Sota, the only thing Kent had seen from the war was conscription and propaganda—from both sides. Yet, and probably because of that, Rowan hated the Great Unrest with passion.

She also hated the fact that she was standing in a line of girls in vaguely her age, most of them overdressed and with heaps of makeup, as if they were about to run down the runway. " _Nonsense_ , _"_ she thought. A waste of time too. Why did they need make up to line up for one to two hours, talk to a random Six for five minutes and then leave? " _Ridiculous_ ," she thought.

"It's ridiculous," she had told Owen and Annie, her younger (and dearly loved) siblings. "There's no way anyone who isn't bribing the government will get in."

And yet, here she was. She had finished work, filled in the form that had arrived for her, and had spent the last hour standing in a line, just to let someone check if she was indeed Rowan Johansson and eligible to put in her name for a lottery that matched _The Hunger Games_. It had been ages since she saw that movie though; it had been used as an example on how awful things _could_ be for them… The teacher probably hadn't seen the movie before she showed it to them back then.

"What you don't do for money…"

Proudly, she ignored the glances and whispers of the two nicely dressed women (maybe Fives; one was carrying a case that looked like a violin). The fact that they looked down at her when she, at least, probably had a more steady (albeit definitely much less) income than your average musician Five irritated her.

She wanted to spit at them, definitely, but what was it going to do? If they needed to talk down at her because she was a Seven, then it was their problem. The line moved, and she finally entered the office.

One more time, Rowan stared at the form in her hands. She had filled it out after finishing the last shift she had, worried that the office wasn't going to be open anymore. Evidently, they were prepared for the amount of people.

When it finally was her turn (hopefully, Owen and Annie had gone to bed already…) she handed over the form and her ID over, allowed the poor Six in front of her to do his work and took back her ID once he seemed done. She signed a paper stating that she had been honest, and what not—she didn't read it—and dropped the pen.

"Thanks," she muttered (probably unheard by anyone) and dodged the two Fives on the way out. They probably were dodging her too, but details. Rowan shook her head one more time, disappointed in them, and headed home. Considering the fact that the ranch she lived on was outside town, she had quite the far way home to walk.

Home was… well, it was a place with a roof. Rowan lived on a farm of a rather wealthy Four; someone who could afford all work to be done by Sevens and Sixes. The people working on the farm were one tightknit community, and Rowan wasn't the only girl who signed up; Rowan lived with her family in a tiny apartment above the barn. One living room, one bed room and that was pretty much it, but a place with a roof. Better than it could have been, with their pay.

"I'm home," she said to her younger siblings who were still outside. The sun had already set—they hadn't gone to bed. Owen and Annie were sitting with older workers, chatting about the Selection. One was evidently explaining what the event was, and when Annie, the four years old, noticed her, she jumped onto her feet.

"Rowan! Rowan!" she called out. "Are you going to do the Selection? You will be a princess!" Annie jumped at her, nearly pushing the tired Rowan to the ground. Just in the last second, she maintained her balance.

"I will try, okay kiddo?" she asked with a genuine smile. The first of the day, she'd note later.

"You'll definitely be a princess! Look, I can help you," Annie added. "I can train you to be a princess."

Everything of Rowan demanded to go to bed. It was dark too, and rather cold, and she had the early shift in the next day's morning. But then again, Annie was probably not going to go to bed until she had given Rowan a few 'princess' lessons. " _Annie is far too invested into fairy tales,"_ Rowan thought.

Owen, behind them, rose an eyebrow. Even though he was seven years old, he seemed to agree with Rowan's perception of the fact that Annie needed to realise that Rowan's chance was non-existent. Even if it was a lottery, there were so many eligible women…

Well, she didn't have anything to lose. If she got in, she'd be a Three. She could adopt her siblings and allow Owen to do what he dreamed off. Maybe Annie, with the amount of fantasy she had, could become an author?

Rowan had to admit that she was daring to dream. "Stupid me," she thought while giving her sister a piggyback ride to their mini apartment on the farm. "Don't be that positive. Don't make yourself false hopes."

"So, your highness," she asked her younger sister. "What would you like to hear as bedtime story?"

"Hmmm…." Annie paused. "I wanna hear of daddy's adventures as soldier!"

Rowan sighed. "Alrightie." She hated these stories, but Annie adored them. Maybe because Rowan only took her father's occupation into it and made everything else up. She began telling Annie about the fearless soldier Oliver Johansson, and how he defeated the evil dragon of Whites. At least she could teach her sister geography like this.

Annie fell asleep in the middle of the part where he had to climb over a frozen mountain, and once Rowan was sure that her younger sister had fallen asleep, she checked onto Owen—also asleep. Perfect. She could go to bed herself.

She needed the sleep rhythm of a four years old, with her amount of work.

"But before that," she muttered and picked up the older papers she had gotten herself from the farm office (the Six working there made large coffee breaks…). She sat down in the light of the one lamp that was in the one room the siblings all slept in, careful not to wake her siblings.

" _Dad_ ," she wrote, " _as you know, the Selection was announced yesterday. As I explained you yesterday, I submitted an application. I couldn't care less for the monarchy (do you remember the story you told me about one of the princes? The gossip about the other?) but if I win the lottery, then I would be a Three. I could allow Owen what he dreams of! I know that this is wish-talking, but Annie really pulled me into this. I tried not to make her listen to the report because it was so late, but she picked up the topic today, I think."_

She stared out of the window, wondering how her father was right now.

" _I hope you're well. We're doing well—the farm did well over winter. As I told you yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that… I am repeating myself, aren't I? Maybe I shouldn't write daily letters, but it makes me feel like you aren't away."_

Rowan scrutinized her sleeping siblings, considering whenever she should mention anything about them. She hadn't seen them over the day—they hadn't come onto the farm with her fortunately.

" _Owen and Annie are healthy. I made up a story of you fighting a dragon in Whites today. Annie remembered that Whites is in the north-west of Illéa; I'm glad she did. I'll try with something more difficult tomorrow. Maybe Carolina or Clermont? What do you think?"_

Was there anything she could tell him other than that? No, there wasn't, she thought.

" _I_ _miss you. Rowan_."

She folded the letter (much less neatly than the Six from whom she stole the paper did), and placed it onto the pile of letters. One more, and she'd end the week. The pile was hidden on a board that Owen couldn't reach—she didn't want her siblings to realise that she was writing letters to their father every day.

"Good night you two," she whispered again while preparing to sleep herself. "Night mummy…" she told the closed door. She hadn't seen her mother at all, huh? Maybe she should have mentioned that…

/ / /

 **Elevator of a Tailor Hotel Chain hotel, Tijuana, Sonage  
Harriet Tailor**

Harriet suppressed a giggle.

She wasn't alone in the elevator, so she obviously couldn't break into an "Oh my gosh, I'm doing it", especially not when the hotel she lived in belonged to her dad, but hey! Childhood dreams coming true, or so!

Okay, now, she knew that the Selection wasn't one-hundred percent fairy tale (and probably lots of acting—the queen had been an actress once, so that fitted), but at the same time, Harriet remembered quietly reading so much about the King's Selection that she felt like she had been alive back then.

"Dad would kill me if he saw me now," she thought extravagated. He hadn't been too keen on Harriet's childhood obsession with being a princess. Well, it led her to maths and business ("A princess needs to be skilled in maths, Harriet!" has been a decent way to get her into what nowadays was her strongest asset), so that was probably useful.

The elevator stopped at the lobby, and Harriet stepped out before anyone else.

It was probably her resting bitch face combined with her status as their boss that made the receptionist straighten his back. She passed by him without giving him a second of attention, eyes dead ahead, and dodged a couple of children playing in the lobby.

Her driver was waiting for her outside, and even though she knew that Two to Eight alike, everyone had to wait in line, she hoped to get done with this quickly. If her dad was to learn of this, she wasn't going to be in a favourable position. She sat down into the car, and glanced over to her phone. In the time she had spent on finalizing her form and contemplating if she genuinely wanted to risk it, she had received work mails. Being involved into the management of a national hotel chain had its ups, but also downs.

At least she didn't need to stay with her dad. Her dad was cool, but his new wife? A disaster, she thought. The hotel was definitely a better choice.

Harriet, rich or not, had to wait alongside everyone else. As expected from a women of her social and financial standing, she overlooked the charity donation requests in front of the Province Services Office and the Eight begging. The time in the line was spent doing work on her phone, and she was out of the office an hour later.

On the last day of February, she had been working in her hotel suite when she had been called by the reception, announcing an unannounced visitor. Surprised—she didn't expect anyone—she allowed him to enter, and listened to the palace messenger's proposal.

Harriet accepted, and, being the business lady she was, went through the paperwork swiftly. The young man the palace had sent was visibly glad, eventually confessing that he hadn't listened that much when they had been briefed.

With the time to be waiting outside of the hotel being in the afternoon, she had signed up for the lady-in-waiting programme and was lying on the sofa, fairly content with herself and skimming through her copy.

"Right," she muttered. "I probably should tell dad…"

She doubted that her father was against the government per se, or anything (the great Unrest wasn't their fault, and Tailor Hotels actually worked together to house people whose homes had been destroyed), but he needed her.

With her brother presumed dead by them, someone would need to inherit the hotel chain.

"A little rebellion won't hurt…?" Harriet tried to convince herself. "I mean, if dad needs me to be his business daughter who's chill with maths the whole time, then I definitely deserve a break," she thought aloud.

She nodded to herself, fetching her phone from the couch table. She dialled her father's landline, intending to leave a message asking him to call back—he'd probably be at work and definitely not home to pick up, but to her surprise, someone picked up immediately.

"Oh, hey dearie," a chattering voice—her step mother—answered. "I didn't expect you to answer until in ten minutes—I thought you were still in a meeting?"

"What?" Harriet blurted. Her step mother clearly didn't check who called.

"Oh, you're not my—" Her step mother sighed. "Harriet, what can I do for you?" she forced herself. "I am expecting a call from a friend; we're about to discuss where to go for vacation."

Vacation from what? Harriet rolled her eyes, considering to say that she dialled the wrong number, and actually wanted to reach someone else. Her step mother didn't do anything but chill at home—she was a gold digger, even if her father didn't admit it. Maybe he was pleased by the fact that she was fifteen years younger and didn't appear as old as some other women did, but Harriet didn't like her. They were just too much of an opposite, she believed.

"Oh, I wanted to talk to dad," she replied. "I can call back."

"He's at work, sweetie."

 _You don't say_ , Harriet thought, rolling her eyes.

"Oh really? That's too bad," she replied instead. "Well, then, I'll call back and—"

"Oh, actually, wait," her step mother interrupted. "Do you have a moment?"

"N—" Harriet's lie was interrupted.

"Did you sign up for the Selection? You're a stunning young lady, and I'm sure you'd be a great princess."

 _Why do I have the feeling that you just want to be a One?_ Harriet suppressed a sigh. If her step mother knew a thing about her, then she'd have known of her childhood obsession with the Selection. It wasn't common knowledge that Queen Lysandre nearly had been eliminated in the first batch or that the Queen Mother had been forgotten by King Henry until the second major eliminations!

"Yes, I did," Harriet replied a bit too sweet. "And actually,"

She _had_ been given the OK to talk about this, hadn't she? As long as she didn't go and talk to the press, it was alright, wasn't it? The only thing she knew was that contact to family and friends was limited during the training, due to classified information. That was why Harriet needing to talk to her father—she had to tell him that she was taking indefinite time off.

"I have been selected for a lady-in-waiting programme," she explained.

"Oh." Was she disappointed? Great!

"Yes," Harriet replied with pride in her voice. Too bad for her. "I'll be leaving Sonage tomorrow and head to Los Angeles. I wanted to tell him that."

"So… you'll do… what?" Her step mother struggled with pretending to be interested. Probably because even if she was to become lady-in-waiting of the next queen wasn't going to make her step-mother a One.

"Oh, I'm not so sure myself. Seems to be somewhat secret. I assume it includes some classified stuff about the Selection," Harriet added.

She could practically hear her step mother's smile. "Oh, then you definitely _have_ to keep me up to date!"

Like the wealthy lady she was, Harriet's voice went down in disappointment and worry. "I am _so_ sorry, but I can't. There are strict rules on communication, so I am not even sure whenever I could stay in contact with you all. I would love to, but I might not be able to…"

"Oh… Well," her step mother sounded done with the topic, "I need to call a friend. I'll talk to you!"

"Bye," Harriet chattered.

"Bye sweetie!"

She groaned the instant the call ended. The phone was placed back onto the sofa table, and she took a moment. If anything real came out of this training thing, she'd probably get her step mother lots of favours. Harriet wasn't a fan of that idea.

"I'll need to tell dad," she realised. He wasn't going to get out of office until much later, so an email had to do the job. Maybe he'd call her on the way or so.

" _Hi dad_ ," she began, being absolutely professional and all, but erased the intro immediately. " _Hello father."_

That sounded much more like the person she should be, yes.

" _As you might imagined, I applied for the Selection, and was invited to join the training program for possible ladies-in-waiting. I decided to take this as a form of vacation. I would have loved to have informed you beforehand, but things happened rather quickly. I'll arrange a substitute for me at work now, and try to call you tomorrow at work. Love, Harriet."_

"… Better not give him time to call and complain," she thought, and sent the message, and sat up. "I probably should go and pack," she muttered.

Even if she had been told that there wasn't anything she was going to need, and for security measures she should keep her luggage light, but there was still stuff she absolutely was going to need. With a bright hum and happy smile, she began her work.

/ / /

 **Author's Note:**

 **Meet** Nereida Statten **by** rysaspirit, Rowan Johansson **by** Moonchild913 **and** Harriet Tailor **by** PrincessLillyCarter.

 **A little note to anyone who reads this and hasn't come and said hi yet—feel free to check out our Selection Discord Server! We do lots of fun things, discuss the world building and SYOCs, and it's a great place to meet fun people. :D Just chek this link out! discordapp invite / pjY8GE7**

 **A big thanks to everyone who pinned things in the Pinterest board! I'll invite the OC creators once all questions about their OC have been solved. If you're added, feel free to add things!**

 **Now, the first date will be decided among users who can solve following riddle. I'll chose the character to get the first actual date among the users who can PM me the correct solution to the following riddle.**

 _Loved by one, hated by many,_

 _avoided by most, sought by few,_

 _I will meet you all one day._

 _Present wherever you go,_

 _we only ever meet once._

 _Who am I?_

 **Idk if that'll be happening in the plot, but I was bored and need someone to kick start the plot. xD**

 **Thank you, Abizeau, for proofreading again! :)**


	5. Chapter 4

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, the four royal siblings discussed the entry requirements and selection guidelines. Louis wasn't too happy with what his siblings did though. As usual, the POVs of the Selected are not set parallel.  
_

 **Chapter 04**

»Don't do icebreakers. «

 **Sophia's Office at the Illéa Palace** **, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Sophia of Illéa**

Sophia skimmed through the folder she was holding. It had just come back from her grandmother who had gladly volunteered to help. In Helena's peculiar handwriting, she had commented onto the suggested outlines for the girls' first days.

" _Give them time to meet_ ," she had written, " _but don't do icebreakers_. _They're a nightmare_."

Sophia chuckled. Of course, the Queen Mother had her own experience with a Selection, and she expected her to have her own opinions on what they would do. Asking Helena on her opinion sounded like a much more trustworthy answer than her father too—she had heard enough of Adrian only having eyes for her mother.

" _Make sure they'll get enough time to take in the information_. _Don't dump pages of knowledge onto them at once._ "

Thinking of time, Sophia grimaced. Two weeks until everything should be prepared— _thank you, Xander, for giving me so much time_ —and two more weeks until the Selected would arrive. Hill Castle needed a time for a few renovations to accommodate the new guests coming. In the last years, the largest number of residents present had been five. The Queen Mother's residence had been Sophia's, Ernest's and Louis' escape in some of the years of the Great Unrest—before it had been deemed saver for them to be split too. Sophia travelled to Waverly.

" _Make them understand that Hill Castle is a lone island compared to the Illéa Palace. Maybe introduce them to staff?_ "

Now, it was only the residence of two royals. Mother and son enjoyed the remoteness of the residence. Everything probably had been peaceful, except that Sophia and Xander had thrown their father out of it. Of course, Adrian agreed with the idea of the Selection and trusted his mother's judgement that the training month would ease _everyone's_ nerves, but Sophia couldn't imagine her father to be happy to be back home.

The Illéa Palace reminded him too much of his wife.

"But Xander was right," she muttered to herself, glancing out of the window to the empty garden. "Dad needs to get out of his hole… I don't want to dodge people's questions on him any more…"

She played with the (pink, of course—Sophia loved girly things) pen in her hand (although much less skilled than Xander was) and glanced at the light pink roses on the desk. Maybe she could ask him to try and revive the garden? The rebels hadn't ever been so stupid to attack the King's residence, but over the Great Unrest, the beloved garden had lost its glory.

"I'd love to suggest to join but…" She had her duties.

Sophia shook her head and returned to the folder. The princess turned a page, skimming through her ideas for icebreakers. Her grandmother had, one more time, insisted on icebreakers being a terrible idea.

"Why though?" Sophia wondered. "They surely help to ease everyone's nerves!"

She made a note to include them either way—Helena was old and probably didn't understand how their generation worked. She turned another page, finding the list of considered applicants to teach the young ladies about the life at court. Helena agreed with her choices.

 _Knock knock_. "Can I come in?" It was her father who asked.

Within seconds, Sophia rose and smiled. "Of course!"

It wasn't even politeness that her father asked to come in. Adrian _was_ the King, and he could do however he pleased. Yet, he always asked to enter his daughter's rooms—even if it was Sophia's office. The door opened quietly, and the princess curtsied politely.

"It's been a while," Adrian remarked with a nod.

Seconds later, his daughter hugged him, unable to hide that she had been missing her father. "I missed you," she complained. She missed him—even if she was disappointed.

"I'm sorry," the King replied, the faint smile disappearing from his face. "I… I just…" He was lost for words, and shook his head. How uncommon for the politician...

Sophia nodded either way, and politely pushed him onto the nearest chair, taking her own again. "I understand, dad," she told him. "I miss her too."

Adrian shook his head, disappointed in himself. "You're at least working…" He nodded towards her desk, filled with files with notes, outlines and plans.

"I…" Sophia bit on her lip. She did agree, but she couldn't say that. "Dad, you loved mum. It's natural for you to miss her."

"It's just that _every single time_ I try to work or think about the country or _anything_ , she comes back to me. What she'd comment on the reports Muffin is sending me, or what she'd complain about or what she'd like or…"

"Give yourself time, dad," Sophia said. "Why does everything remind you of mum?"

"She always tried to be helpful," her father replied, "but she's a terrible politician. She never looked at the big picture, so anytime I try to do that, I find myself wondering which little details Lys would look at and think about and…" The King sighed. "And here I am. I wanted to check onto my daughter, and what do I do? Complain about my life, again." He looked to Sophia. "How are you doing, Cupcake?"

"A bit busy," Sophia laughed, "but I want to finish the planning. Then there's also Freddy and normal work."

"How is he doing?"

"He's curious about the Selection," Sophia explained. "I've explained how it will go, but I left out confidential details."

Adrian nodded. "That's my girl. From what I've seen, you've done great work too."

"Thanks," Sophia smiled. "What do you think of it?"

"The Selection?" Adrian asked. "I remember that I was a nervous wreck."

Sophia laughed. "I remember. You told us that mum was confidence itself."

Adrian nodded nostalgic. "She frightened me! I was at the edge of eliminating her among the first batch, but I decided not to. Probably because I could use someone who was confident, unlike me."

"I couldn't imagine Xander a nerve wreck but…" she trailed off. "We both know he's got no experience with women…" She sighed. "He's been treating the whole work on the Selection as a job interview, not what it's meant to be. I understand that he's nervous and awkward about it, but… The poor girls! They expect romance—the country does—and they'll get Xander who looks for an employee and not a wife!"

Adrian nodded. "I've been worried about that too. He's too focused on the facts and the government."

"He doesn't have a life," Sophia added and leaned into her chair. She rolled her eyes, before realising that this probably went into the wrong direction. She glanced to her father, worried. She wanted to talk to him about so many things, but she couldn't. Adrian had other problems—he had lost the love of his life, and faith into his country. She couldn't talk to Xander either—he had to find a wife and was worried about Victoria every single day. She couldn't talk to Ernest—he wasn't the type to give such advice either way—or Louis who had his own problems. Maybe Helena? But she was too worried about her son…

"You're right…" the King lamented. He caught his breath, and took the folder Sophia had opened before. The King flicked through the pages, watched by his worried daughter. He stopped at one page, began reading, before he sighed. The folder dropped back onto the table, and he braced his head onto his hands.

"Dad…?"

"I'll…" Adrian shook his head. "I might go and see…"

Sophia smiled hopefully. Was Adrian going to say he'd try to work again? Not that she trusted Xander—she did!—but her father wasn't dead, and with Xander in charge, it felt terribly much like he was. Adrian had stayed away from them, clearly living the Crown Prince free reign, in order to avoid any confusion and conflict.

"I might look at staying in Waverly for the duration," Adrian finished. "Or Clermont, or something like that."

Sophia wanted to sigh in disappointment. She didn't—it'd be impolite—but she definitely wanted to. She scrutinized her father, considering the limited opinions she had. There wasn't really anything she could tell him to genuinely convince him, was there?

"I'm sure that Xander would appreciate your help though," she pointed out. "I mean, we will get him into romance _somehow_ … Plus, Ernest and Louis need someone to talk to that's not Mr Lets-Keep-The-Country-Running-Nothing-Else-Matters."

Adrian shook his head amused. "You seem to be doing that perfectly fine though, Cupcake."

Sophia wanted to interrupt—to remind him that she was preparing to leave—but didn't. She nodded, keeping her worry about who would take care of the family when she was gone. She adjusted her hair, nervous on what exactly she was meant to say.

"Do you want me to stay, Cupcake?" the King asked though.

A part of Sophia wanted to embrace him happily for getting the hint, but once again, Sophia didn't. She had done enough for that already today. Sophia loved her father, but he once again reminded her that he hadn't been her father ever since the civil war. Instead, she gave him a smile.

"I am sure that it'd be of benefit," she replied diplomatically.

"What benefit?" the King glumly asked.

"First of all, while grandma provides an insight from the Selected's perspective, you can provide an insight from the prince's perspective," Sophia spoke, making up a reason as she went on, "which would help _me_ with the organisation as I could take your experience in consideration, and, _as I said_ , my brothers certainly could need the help."

Adrian looked into his daughter's eyes. The sadness in his was undeniable. Was he ever going to be the same person again?

"I will see what I can do, Cupcake," he replied equally diplomatic, although much less enthusiastic than Sophia. "How _are_ your brothers doing? I trust that you know that best."

Sophia glanced to the roses on her desk. How were her brothers doing? Xander was a pillar of confidence and strength. Ernest was pondering about things that he refused to tell her, and Louis was surprisingly keen to help with the Selection.

"Xander is doing well," she began. "As always, he's on top of everything. He has agreed to my suggestion to ignore castes and appearance, and is looking for ways to give everyone a fair chance in participating. We are still working on the final criteria to select the girls though."

"My father, back when I was having my Selection, went through lists of eligible girls who submitted their name to the lottery," Adrian remembered. "He went by caste though, and had a list of types of women he'd see as adequate. He promised me that once he finished that list, the rest would be random—which it was, I believe—but I ended up choosing one of his choices either way."

"Was grandfather tending towards upper castes?" Sophia asked curious.

Adrian shook his head. "He married a Five, Cupcake. He placed any preference in the past. He looked at women who would understand the pressures the job entailed. Of course, they tended to be women of upper castes, but I remember that he chose two Sevens himself. Make sure that you look beyond the obvious."

"Beyond the obvious? What do you mean?"

"A Seven who is shouldering a family's survival is used to pressure and stress. A Three who's just studying international relations will know how it is to study, but she won't understand the weight of lives. Your mother dealt well with the exposure, but lacked the understanding that people live differently. I love her—that's why I married _her_ —but logically speaking, she wasn't the best candidate. Looking back, logically speaking, it probably wasn't the best choice either, considering the country."

"What do you mean?"

"You know that your mother was never an outspoken supporter for giving families whose occupation didn't support them as well as others help, don't you? She believed that when children grew up in such environments, they wouldn't come to reach the same 'heights' as others?"

Sophia nodded. "Yes, I do."

"When I married your mother, my father was glad—she was a Two and the upper classes never liked my grandmother very much. Your grandmother was accepted—she was, de facto, upper class—but some still questioned whenever there weren't others more adequate. Your mother didn't fill that role as well as expected, and she didn't help with the poor people either."

"I understand," Sophia nodded. She couldn't tell her father that she knew that the majority of the country had disliked the late queen—although many agreeing that she shouldn't have been _killed_ —could she? Adrian loved her.

"It probably didn't help, in combination with the financial trouble. Xander is given a difficult decision, but at the same time, I want your brother to know that there's always a chance to find a soul mate in the batch. I found mine. My father found his. My grandfather did, too. My great-grandfather came to love his wife, too. I want him to look for that, too."

Sophia chuckled. "Maybe you should tell him that then?"

"Honestly?" Adrian sighed. "Knowing Muffin, he'll take it too serious if it comes from me."

She had to agree. "I'll try to get him to consider what could happen. What would you do?"

"I'd always put myself first," Adrian replied. "It's still my life. But if I was to choose between the working, middle and upper class? I'd say middle class is where the least problems come from. Working class will make people of importance question the girl's capabilities, and upper class will remind people of Lys. But then again, people are far too focused on castes."

"They are," Sophia nodded. "Everyone seems to believe that just because you are a Seven, you cannot live a good life, and no one seems to understand that prior the caste system, Illéa was one big mess. So many jobs weren't filled, and so many had too many applicants…"

Adrian nodded. "I would love to say that we can push the education system reform forward faster, but the repairs and restorations have priority. When the country has recovered from the civil war, it's time to begin _Project Omega_."

Sophia beamed. He was thinking of the government after all—great! Maybe he'd come back the way he was before the Unrest? She relaxed and leaned back.

"What about Ernest?" the King inquired.

Sophia looked at the wall to think. Ernest was a source of worry to her, but then again, he _knew_ that he could always come to her. She glanced to the only photo that wasn't a garden or flowers in her office. It had been taken seven years ago, in the summer when the Illéas had been to Clermont as a holiday.

"I'm wondering if he…" Sophia sighed. "He seems to be bothered by something, but, that might just be the Selection and Xander wanting him to find a wife, too. He isn't the type to settle down. What do you think?"

"About Ernest settling down?" Adrian asked. "While I do agree that he isn't the type to settle down, he _needs_ to. What he did during the Unrest was unacceptable. Did he protest a lot?"

"Not really, no," Sophia shook her head. "It felt like he just gave in because he knows that Xander would have won the debate either way. Maybe the time he spent away from Los Angeles and all the party life changed him?"

Adrian shook his head. "I doubt that. Louis stayed in a community of lower castes during the last years of the Unrest, and his opinion didn't change either. Maybe he just agreed to avoid the discussion. He hates discussing."

"That's possible."

"Make sure that he is involved into the process of selecting the women," Adrian recommended. "That might help to convince him."

"Probably," Sophia nodded. "Although, talking about how easily Ernest was convinced, Louis initially hated the idea. He didn't say it out loud, but it was… obvious."

"He's never been a friend of public life," Adrian pointed out. "Not since _that_ incident."

"I hope it'll help him change. What I noticed though, when we had a meeting on the Selection criteria for the girls, he participated a lot—Louis was really helpful in the discussion. I don't understand what caused the sudden change in mood… When I tried to talk to him, he asked me to leave him alone and process it."

Adrian remained silent. He probably didn't know either, especially not with the time he spent away from his children." Maybe we're just lucky, for once," the King decided.

"Maybe," Sophia repeated nodding.

" _What exactly_ are you telling Frederick about the Selection?"

"Just what the public will learn," Sophia replied. "I was considering that since Xander wants to test the girls early on, we could invite foreign royalty, under the disguise of diplomatic discussion." She looked at her father. Would he get the hint that he was meant to participate? "Starting with the Savoys, maybe? I haven't seen Amelie in forever."

Adrian nodded. "It would be great to see her and her family again."

Sophia suppressed a cringe. "I'm not sure if it's such a good idea to invite Carlos and Luigi… Luigi is fine but Carlos? He's just as bad as Ernest."

Adrian laughed. "Well, maybe they'll learn from each other."

"If we invite the Savoys, what about the Windsors?" Sophia continued. "Louise hasn't been in Illéa since the Unrest began."

A shadow fell on Adrian's face. His younger brother, Maximilian of Illéa and husband to Princess Louise of the British Empire, had died on the day, Victoria had been kidnapped. Their daughter, Lady Lucia of Illéa, had been taken too, but unlike Victoria, they had gotten her back very soon. As a corpse.

Xander still believed that Victoria's knowledge about the Illéan government had saved her life. Looking back, he probably had been right from the beginning on.

"Louise is still bitter about what happened," Adrian noted. "Our relationship with the Windsors always is under a unfortunate star…"

"Maybe just Louise? Give her a chance on a closing on what happened to Lucia?" Sophia suggested. If Louise came, Adrian had even more of a reason to be back.

"… Not with the Savoys at once," the King decided. "Amelie would be glad to meet another group of Selected, but we'll see about the Windsors. Has Frederick expressed interest in a visit, or why did you think of this?"

"Not in relation to the Selection—I haven't sent that letter yet—but yes, he has."

"Italy, Britain and Germany," the King muttered. "What about Spain and Swendway?"

"Our relations with Swendway and Spain aren't as strong and close anymore as they once were," Sophia remembered. "If we invite them, I'd prefer to wait until the Selected have had training as diplomats. I think Xander remarked that the New Asian president expressed the desire for summit between us and them, but the plan for such a meeting is March, so no Selected for New Asia."

"That is a good analysis of the situation," Adrian complimented. "But Swendway's monarchy is constitutional. Inviting them would be more of a show than politics. Maybe later on, they could work as real test, compared to Spain."

"An excellent idea, dad," Sophia smiled.

Should she ask him if he would join them? Should she remain quiet and assume so? Adrian _needed_ to come back. The Siege of Angeles was months ago, and people were waiting for him to come back. Ruling the country was his right and duty—he had to take it back! He wasn't dead yet. Xander wasn't meant to rule just yet.

Adrian glanced to the family photo on the wall. He didn't follow his daughter's thoughts; his mind was with the youngest princess. On the image, she was laughing next to her oldest brother, but in reality...

"How… how has she been?"

This time, it was Sophia's face on which a shadow fell. "I'm not sure. I haven't really seen her since the Siege. Xander knows more."

"I think I'll do that." The monarch rose. "Thank you for being here for everyone, Cupcake."

"Always," Sophia replied with a smiled that was a little bit too forced.

/ / /

 **Upper East-Side Penthouse, New York, Waverly  
Lady Veira Schreave**

It was the third time that Veira's alarm ringed.

Maybe even the fifth, but who counted? There wasn't exactly anything that made her want to move out of the cozy, warm sheets she was currently buried in. Outside, New York had long ago turned into the busy place it was—the city probably never stopped buzzing—but in Veira's penthouse, there was silence.

The employees knew better than to disturb the young lady, and she was left in peace for as long as she wanted to. Eventually, the ringing of the alarm became an annoyance though, and Veira pushed the alarm clock down from the nightstand, silencing it.

"… Oops." She yawned and squeezed at the bright sunlight. That one was broken for sure. She'd get another one later. It was only the third this week, wasn't it?

Was there anything in particular that she had on her schedule today? No. Veira pulled the sheets closer. Besides tea with her uncle and aunt, she didn't remember anything. She probably could go and get the new alarm clock though.

"Five minutes more…" she muttered.

They turned into two hours, but details. Eventually, at one o'clock, she came to realize that she probably needed to make the decision whenever she'd want to get that alarm clock before tea or not at all. If she was going out, she might as well also check out the new collection of _Chanel_ that had arrived in the stores a while ago, couldn't she? She'd probably end up spending lots of money again….

"… Nah…" She blew a blonde hair strand out of her face. "It won't make much of a difference."

Veira was a Schreave. A descendant of one of the founding fathers of Illéa. A member of a family that was closest to the Illéas. A One. Almost no one could say the same for themselves. Whenever she spent one hundred or five thousand dollars on clothes made little difference.

Slowly (the bed was far too difficult to move in, but it _was_ comfy) she dug her way out of the sheets and placed her feet onto the ground of her bedroom. She could feel her blood flushing into her legs, and shuddered.

It got better very soon.

"Good morning, New York," she hummed. She took a step closer to the panorama window of the NY skyline, and she smiled a bit. The sky was clear, New York buzzed as usual and her apartment was a sanctuary of silence. Maybe she could take a break in Central Park?

"Today is a good day," she decided. A good day required brighter colours, she thought, and opened the doors to her walk-in closet. How someone could survive without a walk-in closet was a mystery to her.

Being one of the few Ones in existence automatically made one some kind of celebrity, but she had grown into being a bit of a fashion icon in Waverly, too. Not that she minded—she loved fashion!—but it made her aware of how careful she had to be with her clothes.

Half an eternity later, she entered the living room to check out whenever a new edition of the _Vogue_ had already arrived. It hadn't; there was still the old edition with Alex Valentino on the cover. Veira dropped the magazine onto the couch table and went onto the hunt for her purse.

"I swear… this thing has the ability to disappear," she muttered while looking into all places where it could be. The bag was, although sans what she needed, her credit card, in front of the television. The credit card turned out to be on the counter.

"Maybe I should stop dropping things so carelessly…" she muttered with a shrug. It wasn't going to make a lot of difference, was it? She grabbed the credit card, the bag she had chosen for today's outfit and other necessities, and headed to the elevator.

She decided to go and buy a new alarm clock first, and as her driver drove through the never-ending traffic jam of New York, she began scrolling through the newsfeed on her phone. The political news quickly was ignored—if anything really important happened, her uncle would surely tell her—and she skimmed down to the celebrity gossip.

"Sophia hasn't been up to much lately," she noted. "It's been like this since January, and the palace hasn't pointed out any events for February or March either…" She continued to scroll, wondering what was up with Sophia. She was a friend of Veira, but with the Unrest being ended, Sophia wasn't staying in New York anymore and busy 24-7 with her duties as princess.

She typed a few things into her phone, and realised that the gossip was right—there was nearly no public event Sophia would attend. People questioned if she was seeing someone, but if that was the case, Veira believed that she'd know about it. Besides Victoria—poor girl, she thought—the other royal's schedule was surprisingly calm as well. Ernest was expected to visit provinces on the east coast that had been affected a bit by the war—she could bet that he'd end up just partying in Miami again—while Louis had been noted to be scheduled to visit southern provinces such as Bonita.

"There's nothing on Sophia…" she repeated. "Weird."

Maybe she was just taking time off again? Probably. She deserved it. The same went for Xander—even though the Crown Prince always tended to intimidate Veira a tiny little bit (who, of good social standing, had martial arts as hobby?!) or they were trying to help Victoria?

"It's been ages since I saw any of them," Veira thought before the car stopped.

Her driver opened the door for her, allowing her to step out of the car that was parked perfectly in front of the entrance. By now, most people probably started going out for lunch break. Veira adjusted her jeans briefly and unseen before heading into the store. Just in case someone recognised her.

She managed to get as far as to the counter with her new alarm clock (in form of a moon, with glitter!) until two girls approached her with a nervous "Excuse me?"

Veira turned around herself a bit too fast. "Hello!" she beamed. "Can I help you two?"

"Are you Veira Schreave? The One?" one of them asked. "You look a lot like her."

Veira smiled. "Yeah," she replied. "That's me."

"Can we… can we take a photo?"

She kept her smile up. There wasn't a reason not to be smiling, was there? "Sure. Just let me pay for this."

Both girls, still nervous, nodded energetically and gave Veira the time and space to pay for the moon-shaped alarm clock. Since both of them didn't seem in a hurry—only nervous to meet the somewhat celebrity—she took her time to enter the code of her credit card and receive the paper bag with her newly acquired possession.

"Done!" she announced bubbly. "Thanks for waiting."

"No problem," one of them stuttered.

Taking photos didn't take very long (Veira had her driver assist them), and she exchanged a few more polite words with the two girls, before heading outside. Her bag was carefully placed into the car, before she slipped in herself to head to _Channel_. Maybe she could visit _Michael_ _Kors_ too?

By the time she left _Gucchi_ , she had spent about five thousand dollars, and no time left to slip into the makeup store nearby. Tomorrow, she decided, and asked her driver to head towards her uncle's residence. The governor of Waverly was always busy, but Phineas Schreave always took the time to meet her himself. Alongside Genevieve, her aunt, they had adopted her after her parents and the Great Unrest happened… Genevieve couldn't have children herself, so they had been willing to take in Veira back then.

"It's… Five and a half years ago," she realised as she was guided to the sitting room where her aunt and uncle were already there waiting for her.

"Hello!" Genevieve rose to greet her, and Phineas, once he dropped the folder in his hand that probably was work, followed. "How are you, darling?"

"I'm doing fine," Veira replied. Not a lie— _today_ was a good day.

She quickly caught up with Genevieve on what had happened in the time between their last real meeting, allowing Phineas, her uncle, time to finish the work he was probably doing. They began drinking tea and Genevieve offered strawberry tarts.

"Oh, no, but thank you." Veira shook her head. "I had a large lunch."

"That's no reason to dodge strawberry tarts!" Genevieve laughed and placed them in front of her. "Phineas, are you finished already? I know that you want to finish work, but you promised to take time when Veira would come!"

"A moment and I'm with you." He replied, and was with them a bit later.

"What are you working on?" Veira asked. Not particularly that curious, but since she already had heard what Genevieve had been up to…

"Two things. One of them is the problem with the number of homeless refugees in Waverly, and something else. It's a plague, really. We can't just send them back to their home towns, especially when they were destroyed, but they won't find a better live in Waverly either, and are more likely to become Eights."

Veira nodded. "We were lucky that Waverly wasn't touched by the rebels."

Genevieve laughed. "No one wants to fight nearby nuclear plants."

"I assume that was the reason why," Phineas nodded. "But Allens, Labrador, and Hansport were hurt worse than we were, and we've got too many refugees coming from there…"

"What is the plan?"

"Build temporary shelters, like everywhere where it's needed, and go from there. It's a blessing that we can employ lots of Sevens, but we're worried about Sixes and Fives. There are plenty of roles Sixes can do, but not nearly enough, and Fives bring no necessary skills. Most of the homeless left in Waverly are Fives from the surrounding provinces. They just don't find work…"

A round of silence—neither Genevieve nor Veira had an idea on what to say—fell.

Awkwardly, Genevieve interrupted it. "Well, we haven't met up to discuss the homeless problem," she decided. "The other thing, you've been working on, Phineas…?"

"Oh, yes!" Phineas laughed. "Fortunately, that's a lot less work."

"What is happening?" Veira asked.

"A Selection," Phineas announced. "It's still a secret—don't tell _anyone_ —but it'll be announced on the _Report_ in two weeks' time."

"A Selection?" Veira repeated surprised. "By whom? Louis?"

Phineas shook his head. "Xander, of course. He's the heir, even though I cannot imagine that he has possibly time to date women right now." He laughed again. "But, Ernest and Louis are meant to take a look at the ladies too."

"Are they?" Veira repeated surprised. "But Xander is twenty whereas Louis is seventeen."

"Hence me saying 'take a look'. Xander's much softer on Louis, but he wants Ernest to settle down. Understandably."

"We were thinking…" Genevieve began. "Why don't you participate? I know that you just finished school and are still looking for something to do, but maybe the Selection will help you? You'd also have a great chance to see Sophia and the boys again."

"I could see them either way though…" Veira replied wary.

"Sophia's schedule is full of Selection work, and so is Xander's, alongside government work," Phineas explained. "Ernest and Louis are doing public work but also will have the girls in mind—I doubt that you'd have that much of a chance to see them for more than a cup of coffee in the afternoon."

"… Oh."

"I'm sure it'd help you, too," Genevieve added. "It'd be a nice distraction from… your parents. I know you still worry about your mother after your father passed away."

"… You're right," Veira nodded slowly. "Why not?" She tried to be cheerful and not worried.

"Great. I'll inform Sophia that she'll have less work to do for Waverly."

"What do you mean?" Veira asked.

"Don't worry, darling," Phineas insisted.

/ / /

 **Flat above Cavanah Jewelry Store, Edmonton, Ottaro  
Irina Cavanah**

Irina Cavanah was surrounded by dismissed drafts, notes, paper sheets, and pencils. Wearing the usual attire that looked _too much_ like a military uniform in her mother's opinion, she was carefully drafting an application.

Not a job application, the Selection application.

Maybe that was why her mother looked like there was a dragon in the living room. She probably hadn't expected Irina to sign up, after she hadn't even touched the topic at the family dinner following the _Report_ announcement more than a week ago.

"What are you doing?" she asked, ignoring the obvious, evidently. In Irina's opinion, she was being far _too_ surprised.

"Filling in the form," she replied in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Oh really?" her mother sat down next to her, already getting all excited. "I didn't expect you to sign up! What are you writing in your form?"

"I'm still drafting…" Irina muttered, her mind occupied with said form.

"Can I see?" her mother, still curious, asked.

A part—a very strong one—wanted to tell her mother that she could read her final draft since it didn't make any sense for her to read the unfinished ones. She didn't really trust her with constructive criticism, let alone because they always misunderstood each other _somehow_.

"Please? I was too old to sign up for the King's Selection—I'm so excited to see what will happen!"

The King was turning forty this year, so assuming that the oldest age eligible for his Selection was the same as for the current Crown Prince's Selection, then her mother had been quite a bit above the age limit. Strange to think that the oldest child of the King and Queen had been born when they hadn't even been twenty… Monarchies were weird. At least they did a decent job at running the country, even if the two younger princes seemed to have a little bit of an attitude problem…

'Oh, come on! It's… the deadline is the day after tomorrow—you need to be done by now!"

Irina shook her head. "I'm not. I had work to do."

"You can read my finished draft," Irina decided either way. She placed the pen and current outline for her essay answer down (she didn't need to draft her name and so on, obviously), and looked to her mother. "Okay?"

She sighed. "Alright… But if you go, you need to write us every day!"

"… Mum." Irina groaned. "The chance for me to get selected is one to thousands. Do you know how many eligible girls there are, alone in Ottaro? I'm just putting in my name for the sake of getting my essay conveyed and just in case, but I won't be selected."

"But come on!" her mother insisted. "You can dream, honey!"

"No, thanks," Irina answered colder. "I have better things to do. Also, in terms of letters—you have Lucas to keep you busy."

She referred to her younger brother. Her older brother, Evan Cavanah, would have been twenty-five years old by now, but he wasn't. She could see that thinking of her dead son hurt her mother, but Irina stayed strong. She didn't move an inch. Evan was dead, and finished, she told herself. He wasn't going to come back.

How ironic that while he had been forced into a war he didn't want to and died, she volunteered and survived.

"You'll be fine," she added. On long distance, she absolutely was. If Irina participated in the Selection, she'd be definitely able to secure her family's living standard. Not that they lacked anything, but just in case. Even _during_ the Selection, they wouldn't have problems!

And that was all just if the big _if_ happened to happen.

"But…" her mother pouted. She seemed to be about to say anything, but she didn't. Considering the discussion to be over, Irina returned to her draft (which was discarded in the next moment) and began scribbling again.

"How come you even want to participate? I thought you viewed the Selection as a stupid fairy tale lie for girls?"

"It gives me a platform to address issues," Irina replied, again in a matter-of-fact voice. "I have ideas, and honestly, it's a perfect opportunity for people with ideas on the country and politics to speak about them, as well as a chance to become someone recognisable. I mean, it works for silly girls who want a fairy tale, but in my opinion, they're just wasting spaces."

"… Oh." Her mother sighed. "Irina, honey, you don't understand this."

Confused—she didn't show it but she felt the confusion—Irina faced her mother. "What do I not understand?"

"The Selection isn't about politics or ideas or so, it's about love. Finding the one you want to spend your life with."

Irina rose an eyebrow. "Yeah, no. You don't find the perfect person to love among thirty-five random girls."

"The King did! King Henry did and—"

"I get it," Irina interrupted. "You're easily falling for their love story nonsense."

"It's not nonsense! Why do you think that the King has handed the government to the Crown Prince?" her mother asked, protective of her own opinion. Even though she was that, her expression conveyed worry. She knew Irina.

And Irina knew herself. "Because he's weak," she blurted. "He can't get over it. He's weak."

She wasn't weak. She had gotten over Evan—even when they never had gotten a complete confirmation of his death, she had gotten over it. When his letters had stopped in the third official year of the Great Unrest, she had kept strong. Even though she had joined the military to help him.

Too bad that she ended up in Carolina while he stayed in Ottaro…

"So… if you think so, how did you introduce yourself?" Her mother gave in, and went back to the form. Wordless, Irina (now slightly annoyed) handed her the latest draft. Immediately, her mother began reading it—out loud.

" _I am a hardworking and determined person that loves learning new things_ … " She glanced to her daughter and nodded. "An interesting start, I guess?"

Irina shrugged. "It's true."

" _As soon as I could, I volunteered to fight in the Great Unrest. I was stationed in Carolina and only returned in November of last year, when the region I had been in had been deemed as safe._ " Her mother began skipping lines. " _I am currently on an internship with the ambition to become a construction manager, although my dream is to become an architect…"_ Her mother sighed. "This isn't a job application, you know."

"One does not simply walk into Mordor."

"…What?"

" _Lord of the Ring_ quote," the fangirl in Irina replied. "The Selection is about choosing a Queen. The only Queen that can care about emotions is a prom queen. The rest will need a head first, and I'm proving that I have a head. Besides, it's asking for that stuff to allow the staff to get a vague idea of who you are. That does the deal, in my opinion."

"You need to add that you're a terrible fan of that ring lord thing."

Irina bit on lips. " _Lord of the Rings_."

"Details." Her mother shot back. " _I have no issues with leading group work, commanding people and similar positions. I tend to lead conversations and consider myself talented in debating_ ," her mother continued reading. "Well, I agree with that one. What else do you have?"

"I considered talking about being interested in politics—as in, from being actively part of it, and that I aim for perfection. I was also considering talking about public speaking and being in the centre of attention."

"Mention the school speech competition," her mother suggested.

"I doubt that a school speech competition will fit into an application for this… More adequate would be that I wasn't just some random foot soldier by the end of the war, but had been given a promotion."

"Or that. It's your thing."

"You don't really believe that this will work," Irina deadpanned.

"It's about love, honey!"

"It's not, mum. History proves that."

Irina's mother sighed. "How would you feel if you were meant to find a wife and one of the possible women gave you a job application rather than an introduction to herself?"

"I'm not gay."

"You know what I mean."

"If I was to be King, then I would rather look at the abilities of someone. Look at the Queen. Don't tell me that she was made to be a queen just because a random prince happened to like her."

"She wasn't but—"

"Do you really think that the Crown Prince wouldn't want to prevent another problem like her? Especially with his brothers having the same attitude problem? Princess Sophia will probably marry some foreign royal like the King's sister did with the Italian King. Who knows what Princess Victoria will do. He'll want someone who can deal with the position adequately."

"Well, the… the Selection…" Her mother groaned. "I give up."

Irina snatched the piece of paper from her hands. "And I'm going to continue working on this. Hopefully without interruption."

/ / /

 **Anastasia's home, Sioux Falls, Dakota  
Anastasia Collins**

There was something very strange about this all.

Anastasia wasn't very comfortable with the situation she had found herself in. Her sister was going on and on about how she was absolutely going to be admitted in the Selection and that she would become princess (which wasn't out of character for her), but Anastasia kept thinking back onto the essay question.

It was too predominant, too important to say that the Selection was luck.

The day before yesterday, the last applications had been taken in. From what Anastasia knew, it'd take a month—the Selected would be announced in the end of March—for them to know who had been selected. A month that officially was filled with security checks, preparations and just a bit of buffer time. Even though she wasn't as opinionated about the gap as her mother (who kept on complaining), she felt like it was a little bit off.

Unlike usually, she was with her family, too. Or rather, they were with her, to see how she was doing and all, considering how demanding her work as bio-environmental engineer was. That, or her mother needed a reason to get out of the house and check onto her older daughter.

Her mother and sister were happily chatting about the Selection and the royals—her father had dodged the meet-up with work which Anastasia now regretted not doing either—while she was more occupied with looking out of the window and pretending to be interested.

"Hey, what did you write for the essay?" her sister asked curious.

"I talked about my career," Anastasia replied. As simple as it sounded, it wasn't. Top grades, top university, internships, extra credits, a highly respected job at I-TEC, a major cooperation in Illéa.

"Boring," her sister complained. "Who cares about grades? I mean…." She went on rambling about how to win a guy's heart and all, and Anastasia soon understood that her sister didn't realise that the essay question was more important than just an introduction for the palace staff.

Her sister was, evidently, dead set on becoming a princess now. While Anastasia suspected that it was more because of the status and wealth than the powers and abilities she'd have, she allowed her sister to do what she wanted. Anastasia wasn't too invested into the Selection herself.

" _It's a great opportunity, I just feel obligated to enter my name_ ," she thought. " _If I was given the ability to make a difference though, I'd want to take it…._ "

It was weird that her family's opinions on the Selection bothered her so much more, but maybe it was just because of the constant discussions in her family. Her sister went on to how she'd want to be treated as Selected (apparently, she'd like to be treated as Queen—her younger sister was so much more sheltered than Anastasia was…) and that 'the prince' (had she ever even mentioned his name?) should pay her lots of attention.

Whenever she was just dreaming or actually seriously believing in her words, Anastasia didn't know.

"I'd rather be worried that it's all just one huge propaganda event," she pointed out. Even though Dakota was one of the provinces that had been barely touched by the war (she hadn't seen a rebel or a fight _once_ ), she had seen the propaganda against the rebels.

Anastasia absolutely didn't agree with the rebels' violence, but looking at the whole picture, she saw the government to be more at fault than she wanted it to be. If her sister was to enter the Selection (or she was, and considering the difference in applications, she was proud to say that she was more likely to be chosen), then she wouldn't want to be surrounded by the people who allowed the war to happen.

"What do you mean?" her sister asked.

"Well… I'd be worried that outside their obligations, the royals wouldn't show any interest in the Selected. Prince Ernest evidently is rather… well, you know about him. I'd be worried that the girls will just be shown around and not be given any chance to make a difference themselves, or enjoy their stay."

"…" Her sister scanned her. "Nah, you're just too negative."

"I'm not negative, I'm being realistic," Anastasia defended herself. "But, whatever." Time to change the topic before yet another issue arose. "What about your boyfriend though?"

It worked, and her sister began talking about whatever guy she was dating now. Anastasia wasn't even sure how her sister had met him—she wasn't attending university—but accepted that she somehow had managed to.

It dawned on her too late that the topic would inevitably end up in a discussion about _her_ love life too.

"What about you, Anastasia?" her mother asked, almost accusing. She wanted her to already marry someone—Anastasia's work in a male-dominated field, with a strong career focus wasn't exactly her cup of tea.

The doorbell turned into a life saver.

"Who's that?" her sister asked curious.

"I don't know…? I'm not expecting anyone," Anastasia replied. "Dad?"

"He said he was working the whole day," her mother replied.

"Then that's indeed strange…."

Nonetheless, she rose and walked to the door of her apartment, glancing through the small peek hole of the door. She didn't recognise the stranger patiently waiting in front of her door, but the uniform made her guess that the man was a Six.

"How can I help you?" she asked through the intercom confidently.

"I am here to meet with Miss Anastasia Collins, to discuss a topic in relation to her application to the Selection. I work for the palace."

Anastasia rose an eyebrow. Huh? If, in the unlikely case, she was selected, wouldn't she only learn this until much, much later? She allowed the palace messenger to come in, telling her mother and sister that it was a guest for her and she'd take care of it.

"This might take more than a brief moment, Miss Collins," the polite man remarked.

"What is this about?" she inquired instead.

"Your application has been considered to be fit for the program to train possible ladies-in-waiting, ma'am."

"What is that?" Anastasia asked immediately. The palace servant almost seemed to be surprised by the direct question, but only almost—he caught himself before Anastasia could question anything. Maybe it was the confidence that had hit her voice only when she had been assured that her family was gone.

"A training and selection for possible ladies-in-waiting to the future Crown Princess, ma'am."

"By all respect, I'm a bio-engineer. I have no idea of what that occupation entails or would require me to do. My position at I-TEC is also rather well-paid, and interesting. I'm doing what I've always wanted to—study the environment and help to make a difference."

"You would still be able to make a difference if you were to choose to join the training, ma'am. First of all, it's no guarantee to actually be given the position, and the contacts you were to make would surely help you in your work environment." The messenger paused. "I have been informed that you are a very talented scientist, ma'am, but that a recommendation in relation to your work was turned down on the basis that you're young and inexperienced in corporate Illéa, is that correct?"

Anastasia didn't show her surprise, but she was taken by it. "Pardon me?" she asked, surprised that they knew about that. It had been an incident that occurred in the end of December—one that bothered her a lot—but she had already forgotten about it.

The palace servant didn't answer her inquiry. "As well, I have been informed that you are interested in creating your own research company. Is that correct? The information is taken from your application."

"… Yes?" Anastasia did want to—she wanted to be independent from the business and seniority that her (although very good) job entailed.

"Your background from the Waverly Institute of Technology, as well as experience in working has proven that you are a very intelligent person who would absolutely be able to make a difference and help people. A lady-in-waiting is the closest confidante to the future queen, a woman of great influence. I am sure that you have ideas that would help a lot."

"…" That actually sounded good… "But my employer wouldn't give me off so much time just for that… I don't even have that many vacation days to fill a month." Not after last year, at least.

"By law, I-TEC would be required to give you indefinite leave for the training. If any issues arise, we will take care of it."

Anastasia didn't respond immediately. Something sounded fishy, but no one was stupid enough to fake to be a government official, when that could end in a treason sentence. Why would they make it law for a thing that, going by her historical knowledge, wasn't that important?

She knew that the Selection allowed such things to happen, but…

 _Oh. Of course._

"This isn't for a lady-in-waiting training, isn't it?" she questioned. "This is about the Selection."

Another hint of surprise filled the messenger's face—again disappearing as fast as it had come. "If you would like to ask about that, I recommend agreeing, Miss Collins."

If the Selection was the propaganda fest she expected it to be, why disguise it as such towards possible Selected? Where was the commonly known announcement that her parents told her about, featuring the thirty-five chosen girls? This didn't make very much sense.

Maybe this was just a test run, and if anyone didn't fit in, they could just throw them out?

"I do need your decision today, ma'am," the messenger reminded her.

So, it was rushed? Why? Maybe they were worried about possible rebel outbreaks in connection to the announcements of the Selected? There were rumours about Sumner still housing some rebels… But looking at her family fighting and the possible platform she would have.

Wasn't it her duty to agree and help? Absolutely, it was.

"I am interested," she decided. "Would you mind elaborating the details?"

A satisfied smile appeared on the messenger's face. "I am glad to hear that, ma'am. From the situation, I presume that you have guests though. The information is of rather confidential nature, and isn't meant to be shared."

"Please," Anastasia nodded, "come in and give me a moment—I will take care of it."

She wasn't sure whenever the idea of making it sound like a work thing was a great idea, but she wanted to know more about this opportunity. If she was to go and push her ever-arguing mother and sister out? A sacrifice she was willing to make, in her opinion.

It was _her_ duty to use this chance to help people.

 **Author's Note;**

 **I had a bit of a struggle on how exactly I'd want to place technology since the books are so ridiculous on it (computers are a mystery, but private jets, that use computers to work, exist…) and I decided to stick with my interpretation that access to technology low-key depends on the caste and wealth. Being a One, Veira obviously has free access to anything while i.e. Rowan from the last chapter doesn't.**

 **Now, since this kinda came up—the messengers from the palace obviously know that they might need to convince the girls since they didn't sign up for being a lady-in-waiting but a Selected. A combination of background research, NSA and the form are used to figure out what might convince them. :)**

 **For the people who haven't submitted the full form yet-please send it to me until the end of January!**

 **As usual, Abizeau beta'ed this; thank you! 3**


	6. Chapter 5

Fallout

 _In the last chapter, Sophia was working on the outlines for the Selection, as well as writing a letter. Adrian, the King, met her to discuss how she and her siblings were doing. Disappointed that her father still showed little to no interest in the country, she convinced him to at least stay at home to support them. The chapter is set a bit afterwards. The scenes of the Selected are not set parallel._

 **Chapter 05**

»Stay strong, Xander would say«

" **I don't want to be here"  
Princess Victoria of Illéa**

The floor was cold.

Ice cold, like the popsicle that Sophy, Xanxan, Loulou and Ernie had shared with her just a few… what had it been? An hour? A day? Vicky shivered. Another tear—stay strong, Xander would say—slowly fell down onto the floor.

"I wanna go home…" she muttered for the thousandth time.

No one replied. Vicky gazed up, into the darkness. The silence, the darkness—it was scary. There was nothing! It wasn't anyhow like home. Nothing that'd make her feel like if she peeked into a side hallway, she'd meet servants, or if she ran down the stairs, she could find Xander…

Just cold, dark, silent horror.

"Lucia...?"

Her cousin was nowhere to be seen. She hadn't seen her since the cruel rebels broke into her home, and the logic in Vicky's mind told her that she wasn't going to see Lady Lucia of Illéa anytime soon. She could hope but Vicky knew. Lucia was as good as dead—like Lucia's father, Maximilian, or Mr Schreave. The image of their bodies dropping dead to the floor kept haunting her mind.

" _No!_ "

The door crashed open. Vicky squeaked at the light and sound, pushing herself against the wall. _Stay strong. Accept what you can't change. Become stronger from it._ A long, tall shadow of a person entered the dark room.

"Hello, little one," they'd say. "We'll have a lovely chat, won't we?"

"I wanna… I want to go home!" Vicky corrected herself. No lady would say that, mother would tell her. Whoever these people were, there were expectations on her. Mother would be disappointed if she couldn't be an acceptable lady.

"Yes, yes," The stranger chuckled, "don't we all?"

"I… let me go home!" she tried, insisting.

"No, no," he kneeled down, "I'm afraid but that can't happen. We need you to tell us something."

Vicky pressed herself against the wall behind her. Left? Darkness. Right? A wall. She was in a corner, wasn't she? Above? No escape. She took a deep breath, and bit on her lip. Vicky clenched her fist—that stranger, he wasn't on her side.

"Xanxan?" she called out. "Xanxan!" He would save her. He'd help her. He always did.

"Xanxan…?" the stranger repeated confused. Then, he laughed. "Ridiculous. The Crown Prince won't be able to help you, kiddo. Better just start to talk, okay? Then we'll be done here quickly, and we don't need to deal with a ten years old."

"I am thirteen!" Vicky insisted. The stranger rolled his eyes. The wrong thing to say? The wrong thing to say, she realised and gulped.

The stranger slowly sat down in front of her, taking all the time he needed and wanted. The closer he came, the more it frightened her. She couldn't recognise him—he'd always be a shadow and stranger in her mind—but she could bet that he was grinning.

"Tell me, kiddo, I'm sure you sneak out home from times to times, don't you? Living there can be pretty boring, can't it?"

"…Yes? With Xanxan I did… why would you want to hear about that?" Vicky asked worried.

"Do tell me, where are they?"

Vicky bit on her lip. "I'm… not meant to say that…?"

The stranger shrugged and grimaced. "It's alright," he replied. "Just… let's talk."

Vicky quickly shook her head. "No. Mother will be infuriated!"

"She'll be fine with it," the stranger told her. "Your cousin, Lucia was it? She talked to us too!"

Vicky didn't believe him. Lucia didn't live at the Illéa Palace; she wouldn't be aware of that. He lied. Energetic, she shook her head. Mother was already enraged enough about her wanting to be with Xander, reading and studying, and not being the proper lady, she should be—tell them about the secret exits of the palace? She'd be a super angry…

"Oh, you _will_ tell me," he said ominous. "I don't want to hurt you, kiddo. You're ten years old, and I don't hit girls, but we need to gain the information. Come on, do talk."

"No, mother will—" _Slap._ Vicky cried out. "Stop it!"

"I will, kiddo, when you tell me what I want."

"But mother won't want me to…"

The stranger rolled his eyes. "That won't be your biggest problem, kiddo."

"But—" _Slap_. Vicky cried out again. "Ouch! You're mean!"

The stranger sighed. "I don't want to be mean," he told her, "but if you don't talk, then you're leaving me no choice. Where's the secret exit?"

"…I…" _Slap_. One of many tears fell down her cheek. "No… I can't tell you that!"

 _Slap_. "This is going to be a long day," the stranger muttered and turned around. "I doubt she's gonna talk like this."

Another stranger voice responded. "What do you suggest? Go worse? She's thirteen."

"Does it make a difference? She'll grow up to be just another tyrant, and she's as good as dead either way. Might as well go full on to get info."

Vicky froze. What were they talking about? That didn't sound positive. Not at all. One more time, she searched for an escape route, but what could she do? Try her luck and kick down the stranger in front of her? No—Vicky wasn't stupid. That'd get her into more trouble than help.

"She's still a kid though…"

"Weren't you the one to say we should just kill her when they infiltrated Hill Castle and ended up with her?"

 _Kill her?_ Vicky stopped breathing for a moment. They were going to kill her? She looked up, down, to the sides and anywhere again—she had to get out of here! She had to get home! Panic rose in her, and she pulled her legs even closer. Another tear.

"Yes, but… not like this. Look at her, she's frightened."

"She also understands how we could end this in an instant. If we get someone into the palace and kill the King, we're good. The Crown Prince is eighteen years old. He'll realise that it's where to stop and give up."

Xander, giving up? These words in one sentence were foreign to Vicky. Xander was strong. Xander protected her. Xander wouldn't give in to these scary people.

Vicky gathered her strength. "He won't do that! Xanxan is strong!"

They weren't intimidated or anything—they laughed at her. "Just calling him Xanxan makes it a joke," stranger number one laughed.

"H-he will!"

"Says who?" stranger number two asked in disbelief.

Vicky opened her mouth, but realised the mistake. They wouldn't take an thirteen years old serious, wouldn't they? It was the same with the advisors. They let her listen, but if she was to suggest anything, she was just a child.

"Just like council meetings…" Vicky muttered.

"Huh?" The second stranger stepped into the dark, cold room. "Have you been to council meetings, kiddo?"

"Y-yes…?"

"Do you remember them too?" the stranger asked. He almost stood above her, but didn't bother to lower his head to even face the frightened girl.

"Y-yes…?" Vicky gulped. "I've been learning a lot…" Her pride into her interest and talent in picking up politics was gone. Gone was the pride into her being so grown up and like her oldest brother, replaced by pure fear.

"Tell us, we're curious."

"N-no! The King says… he says I am never to talk of them to anyone who wasn't in them! You weren't in them!"

"Well," the second stranger sighed, "I'm afraid but _we_ don't listen to your _King_." She spat out the title like an insult.

"B-but… he's the King!"

The strangers glanced at each other. "You got a point," the second said. "She heard stuff from the King's counsellors. She might even listened to military counsel too—especially if she's been in meetings recently. That information might be vital for the lives of us."

"So…" the first stranger trailed off.

"One little girl's live in comparison to all of us? A sacrifice we can do—especially when she's already so supportive of the Throne. Just make sure you don't damage her too much, we need her capable of answering questions."

"She's close to the Crown Prince too. If we kill the King, then he might be willing to surrender in exchange for her life too."

"Yeah," the second stranger nodded. "So, keep her alive but otherwise? Get that information."

" _I won't talk. I won't talk. I won't give in. Xanxan wouldn't either,"_ Vicky thought repetitively.

The second stranger gave her a final, cold glance, and turned around. Backing off? She didn't know. Did she even want to know? What if he was planning worse? He probably was, wasn't he? If that was the case though, what was he even planning? She couldn't imagine anything… Vicky gulped.

"Torturing a little kid. What you don't do for a country's freedom and safety…" the first stranger rose. "Now, I'm giving you one more chance. Answer my questions without resistance, and you'll be fine. Otherwise… I can't guarantee it."

He was planning worse.

/ / /

 **Victoria's bedroom at the Ill** **éa Palace** **, Los Angeles, Angeles**  
 **Princess Victoria of Illéa**

The scream pierced through the nightly silence of the Illéa Palace. Five and a half years later—back in reality, Victoria was sitting in her bed, trembling and sobbing, with her mind still half in that dark basement. The dream hadn't been as clear as her memory was, but now she reflected that time again. Evan, the guard, pushed the door to her room open, but the instant the door moved, Victoria panicked. She threw a pillow against his head—her aim and throw were far too strong for a girl in her age—and inspected the room around herself. _Defend yourself, Vicky._

"Your Highness, it's me, Evan," he tried. She could hear him—that stranger was back again, but they did that too. They lied, pretended to be friends. He didn't get through to her.

"Go away!" she cried out, again and again.

Only when the door smashed open and a tired Xander appeared behind it, she stopped throwing pillows—Xander caught her last one. _Damn it._

"What happened?" he turned to Evan Cavanah, the guard.

"Nightmare…?" Evan shrugged. "I'm not sure? I mean, what else?"

Victoria's mind was a blur. Xander turned back to her—she could see him, but at the same time, she couldn't recognise that he wasn't just another threat. She knew who he was, but he still scared her. It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense.

"Vic?" Xander tried to reach out. "It's me, Xanxan."

"Go away!" She jerked back, against the wall behind her bed. Her head smashed into the wood in the back. _Ouch._

"It's me—I won't hurt you," he tried again. "Xander, your brother."

She shook her head desperately. "Go away!"

Xander stopped moving. _Good. Good_. _Stay away._ He straightened, and looked behind. _What is he doing? What is he doing?_ He nodded to the door, dismissing the guard. Evan nodded to the prince, although worried, and walked out, back into the hallway where he was meant to stand and guard. A part of Victoria's mind knew what was going on, but to the other half, Xander was just another stranger.

 _"Just him and me, huh?"_

If he did something, she stood a chance. Victoria stared aside—she had no pillows left—and eyed the lamp. Throwing it would be different, but it'd work. She'd need to get rid of the chord though, and—

" _No, wait. This is wrong. Xanxan won't hurt me,"_ the sane part of her mind insisted.

"It's alright, you're safe," her older brother told her. "I won't hurt you, Vic."

Was she though? That voice in her head wouldn't go silent. It was Xander—the softie older brother who'd protect her from anything—but it wasn't like things once where. He wasn't fourteen years old anymore. She wasn't thirteen anymore.

But the memories of _being_ thirteen… being innocent and a child, they made her stop hyperventilating. They made her not notice Xander sitting down next to her, worried but careful. He wasn't going to come closer until she'd want him to—would she ever, though?—and she'd just sit there.

Until she'd start crying. As always.

Until she'd be the same as the usual again in a few hours. Everything was going to be the 'new' usual.

/ / /

Victoria was woken up by the chirping of birds outside her bedroom. Slowly, the youngest princess sat up, and touched the back of her head.

"Ouch..." she complained to herself.

Pulling her legs closer, she took a observed her bedroom. It was a massive chaos—the ocean of pillows the princess was used to was all over the room. A nightmare again, Victoria realized, and sighed. Her memories of last night were, at most, blurry.

"If that's the case," she thought, "then Xander will probably come by eventually."

Her hair was, as usual, styled into a ponytail, although overnight, it had become more and more messy. She pulled the hair tie out of it. Looking at her hair, it _truly_ had gotten long since the last time she cut it, Victoria realised. Maybe go back to breast length? She loved long hair.

"At least it is growing normally again," she muttered, and pushed the blanket aside, slipped out of the bed and glanced through the window. The garden was empty, save for a few guards training, and not worth her attention.

As she stepped into the bathroom, she could hear quiet footsteps behind her—maids—but she paid them no attention. For so many reasons, but particularly because she was in no mood for a conversation. That nightmare had been in the middle of the night, but Victoria's heart was still beating as if she was running away from someone.

"Maybe I am."

She washed herself, dressed, brushed her hair and looked at the mirror reflection of herself. Pondering, she glanced up and down from the makeup located in front of her and her reflection, and ended up spending probably a bit too much time with it. Some part of herself felt guilty for it, but another one didn't.

Victoria didn't know which part she liked more.

"Breakfast, your highness," someone said.

Victoria turned around herself, and scrutinized the maid's profile. She was new (at least to her), and evidently nervous. This was the fourth new maid she had this month, Victoria realised, and all of them had been a nervous wreck.

"Do tell me," the princess began, "is there a particular reason about the sudden employment of new maids?"

She felt sorry for making this particular maid be the one to question, but if she was to see Xander today, she wanted a bit of background first. The maid placed (trembling—how nervous was she?) the breakfast trail onto the table in Victoria's sitting room.

"There were quite a few new openings for positions here at the palace, ma'am," the maid explained. "Most of the training will be here, except for the final week, which will be at Hill Castle. The maids are employed for the Selected."

"Selected?" Victoria repeated curious, and sat down. The maid wouldn't have been told any more information, but Xander would tell her. "You're dismissed," she muttered.

The princess took her time making herself tea, eating breakfast and reading the book she was currently at. Victoria didn't focus though; her mind was with the new, note worthy information she had acquired.

She heard someone knock at the door. "Macaron? Can I come in?"

Victoria faced the door. It was the King, Adrian of Illéa. She hadn't expected him to come by—it usually was Xander. Wasn't he at Hill Castle since the end of the Great Unrest? Victoria sighed. She genuinely needed to go out more.

Yet, she gave him no answer.

Was Evan still outside? Was it one of the other guards that Xander trusted more than the palace guard, just because they had been in the same unit once. Who had told the King about tonight? She picked up her book again, considering what she'd do when her older brother would finally arrive.

Xander knocked too, but she knew that the Crown Prince would come in eventually. She didn't bother to turn around though, worried that it'd trigger memories of tonight, or even of the Unrest.

"I heard you're holding a Selection," she pointed out, unsure what to expect for an answer. Maybe just the idea of someone new in this family simply frightened her. Maybe the fact that they were moving on frightened her. She didn't want to be left behind. Not when _she_ couldn't move on, yet. Not when she had no idea what _moving on_ meant for her.

/ / /

 **Outside the Portland City Tailor Hotel, Portland, Likely**  
 **Leila Sinclair**

Family gatherings were a nightmare.

Any other social gathering was too, because _every single time_ , people asked Leila when she was planning on marrying or stopping that 'hobby', as they liked to call her job. Being a firefighter wasn't a hobby. It was probably the only reason why she could understand the rebels' motives. Not their actions (they were terrible in any form), but their motives.

Some people of the upper castes were just on-point stupid.

"Being a firefighter is not a hobby," Leila hopelessly reminded her mother when they exited the hotel where her cousin's birthday celebration had happened. Time to spend the night at home, if she wanted or not...

"Dear, we need to discuss something," her mother insisted as they stood outside in the dark among the many other party guests. "On your last birthday," which was a month ago, Leila wanted to point out, "I gave you an ultimatum. Have you considered it?"

The ultimatum to accept the proposal of the son of one of her friends, or else.

Considering the 'else', Leila felt more like she was being blackmailed rather than being given a choice. But no, her mother and father needed to absolutely insist that they were being fair and considering their daughter's wishes while following their own ambitions.

"Ridiculous," Leila muttered.

"Pardon me? Leila?"

"Nothing," Leila shook it off.

"Your answer, then?"

There was not a single way for Leila to give her mother an answer that would make both of them content. To her, Harry Gardner was a young gentleman stemming from a well-off family with possible relations back to the founding fathers of Illéa. The fact that, to Leila, he was a toxic, emotionally abusive person, didn't particularly matter to her.

"I haven't decided," Leila replied diplomatically. If she was to accept Harry's proposal (which was a no-go—she didn't want to be anywhere close to him), then she wouldn't have any kind of chance to make the difference she wanted to make. If she didn't, well, the outcome was what she wanted to avoid.

"My ladies," her father spoke as he approached them, "would you mind waiting for me? I just have been told that Jonathan is present—we haven't spoken in ages."

"Of course," her mother laughed a bit too sweet, "go ahead. Leila and I were just discussing a few things either way. Say, are Phineas and Genevieve here too? I thought I saw Veira today, but I wasn't sure… Leila, do you know?"

"Hm," Leila mumbled but nodded afterwards. Briefly at least, she had spoken to the socialite. As always, it had been a pleasure, but Veira's interests diverged a lot from hers. She had spoken to other young women in her age too, but genuine interest? She had none of it. Veira was spending too much time on fashion. It was her hobby—that was fine!—but it wasn't Leila's interest.

"You two should meet a bit more!" her mother realised. "Maybe you could go and visit her a bit in New York? It's such an exceptional place, and I'm sure that you would enjoy it."

Except that she wouldn't.

"I have work, mother," she reminded her mum who would discard it.

As expected, the older Sinclair woman sighed. "It's enough of your childish pretend career. You need to start bringing pride to our family name, and do your duty as a daughter!"

Exactly her father's words when he had disowned her. The fact that it left him without an heir didn't seem to bother him at all; her brother wasn't a possible heir anymore after all that happened. Her mother went on how she was a descendant of the Vanderbilts (another founding father of Illéa; the fact that she shared no direct blood with Lord James Vanderbilt, said founding father didn't matter) and had a responsibility to fulfil as result of that.

"Leila," her mother warned. "You are one of the last people to descent from him."

Leila stopped herself from cringing. What about her cousin who, just now, had celebrated his birthday? What about her brother?

"Absolutely," she muttered. "Shall we head home? I am tired."

"Just wait for your father—he hasn't seen Phineas in ages... Leila?"

By the time Leila's mother had finished her sentence, she was already walking to the car. "Sorry, but I couldn't care less," she told her. "I have other things to do."

She opened the door to the car, and sat down. Leila leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes. For all she knew, her mother wouldn't start arguing in public, but she wouldn't be thrilled either. Rather than worrying, Leila decided that it was better to think of Monday. Just the weekend with her family, she reminded herself. Then she'd be able to go back to work and an ordinary life.

Leila drifted off into sleep.

She was only woken up when the family had arrived at their family estate in Portland; unlike Leila's tiny apartment in the city that she shared with a co-worker, the estate was large. Two years ago, she had struggled with adjusting to living in a mini apartment without the money support of her family's wealth, but now?

It was just another gigantic house with at least three noticable fire hazards.

"We'll meet in the living room in ten minutes," someone spoke.

Leila yawned unladylike and pulled herself out of the car. Ten minutes to get out of the hideous dress she had been made to wear. More than enough, but some nagging voice told Leila that her mother wasn't going to be pleased with a sweatshirt-leggings combo.

"Her problem," Leila muttered to herself.

The living room her mother had been talking about did not have the appearance of a normal 'living room'; Leila knew that now, but she didn't care when she fell onto the couch and gained a warning glance of her stern father. Reluctant, she sat up correctly.

Her parents joined her, but as usual, her brother stayed away. He still wasn't better, huh?

Sharing a few polite words, drinking exquisite wine and all wasn't special to Leila, but it surprised her when her mother turned on the television screen at the wall. Wasn't it against all rules of etiquette to do that during a conversation?

The _Report_ was on—going by the time, it probably was a repetition of the original broadcast, Leila thought. The Sinclairs could afford to have private channels. The _Report_ wasn't even broadcasting anything special. Sure, people watched it, but this was one of the few evenings her parents would spend with her this month!

"The _Report_?" Leila pointed out.

Her father nodded. "Yes," he replied, "Phineas and Jonathan were rather cryptic, but they recommended me to watch it before reading newspapers on it."

"Oh." So, politics or so? Her father was a general in the air force; he probably cared about possible army things. With an exception of the 'red' provinces, as her father (and probably therefore the military in general) referred to Angeles, Likely, Fennley, Zuni, Tammins, Sumner and Belcourt, most provinces were slowly returning to the military presence that had been there when Leila had been a child.

The General of the Army, Jonathan Wilde, was speaking. So, the _Report_ still wasn't live, Leila thought. Jonathan had been present at the birthday of her cousin today. She couldn't remember why but she presumed either family friendships or something like that.

If she followed that trail, Princess Sophia probably had been there too.

Leila wanted to close her eyes and sleep—she had a much longer day than her mother and father combined with an early shift in the morning, but she didn't. They'd probably complain. The Report went from the important stuff (military and upcoming legislations) to a brief footage of the press conference on the Queen Mother's yearly series of concerts all over the country.

"When she visits Likely, we need to buy a ticket," her mother reminded her husband. Leila suppressed another comment.

The Report went on with some things that Princess Sophia and Prince Ernest did, before moving on to more politics. Thinking of it, the _Report_ probably was structured in a way that it went from boring politics to more attention-grabbing footage.

Leila was about to fall asleep with her eyes open, when the _Report_ ended with a bang.

Not a literal bang, but the announcement of the Selection surprised her mother just as much as it surprised her. Her mother turned the TV off once the credits started playing and walked off—without much explanation.

"She's probably calling Genevieve," her father guessed unimpressed.

"Hmhm…" Leila muttered. She glanced to her father. "Say, if I was to participate in the Selection, would you consider that as 'fulfilling my duty in bringing pride to the family name', father?"

She knew all too well that the general couldn't say no without denying the importance of the Selection. She knew all too well that she maybe found a loophole. She also knew all too well that her mother knew who to ask to put a good word about her to get her in.

She knew all too well that this was a way to get away from Harry Gardner and the engagement without giving up her brother.

/ / /

 **Beach, Palm Beach, Clermont  
Blair Willow**

Today was one of the days where being a lifeguard was a really, really delightful job.

"Another day of being paid for sitting around," Blair muttered while chewing on her late lunch-sandwich. It probably was more of an early dinner. She was the captain of today's patrol, and there was absolutely no one in the water. Probably because of the cloudy sky and comparatively cold temperatures, or the fact that probably round about everyone was still preoccupied with submitting their application to the Selection.

She reached out for the radio, calling the water's edge patrol. "Water's edge, water's edge, water's edge. This is Base. Over."

"Base, this is water's edge receiving you. Over."

"There's no one coming into the water anymore. Come back; no need to freeze in the wind. Over."

"Rodger, we're coming back. Out."

She dropped the radio back onto the picknick table of the base building, and took another bite from her sandwich. Another day of being paid for watching birds flying over the ocean and essentially doing nothing.

"Probably that's why I'm not being paid that much," she muttered.

Blair Willow rose, adjusted the ponytail she was wearing for work, and yawned. The radio was quietly playing a country music song by Cilla Chamberlain—Blair was captain, and she decided what song was playing—and the other lifeguards on her patrol would need to live with it.

"Hey, can I come in?" someone—she quickly recognised Benjamin's voice, though—asked. Blair turned around to see her boyfriend, Benjamin, leaning in the doorframe.

"Well," Blair began, "this is a public building, so sure. Why aren't you at work?"

"I got a day off," Benjamin replied with a shrug. "You don't seem to have much work either."

"I'm being paid for sitting on a chair," Blair laughed. "I absolutely deserve a pay raise."

"Totally," Ben sat down. "We need to talk though."

"My team is about arrive. If you mind some other people around, go ahead but..."

"Do you mind if I pick you up when your patrol closes? That's at nine, isn't it?"

"With the amount of people on the beach? We'll start cleaning up at seven thirty and finish on eight," Blair replied unimpressed. "Whenever we sit around here or at home doesn't make much difference, except on how safe the streets are."

"You'll get into trouble if you finish early," Benjamin worried.

"Nah," Blair shook her head. "Everyone does that. It'll be l,ah."

"Alright-then we meet at eight? We could go out and get food."

Blair grimaced. "Mum probably would want me to be back on time, because of my brother and dad…"

Benjamin's face froze too. He had been with Blair when almost seven years ago, her brother had been shot on the street, because some stupid rebel confused him with the governor. The governor of Clermont lived in Miami—Miami was not around the corner! And then, her father had disappeared and all went down...

"I'm… we could invite her, actually," Benjamin added. "I don't mind. She met me today. We actually talked about it this morning, and…"

Blair rose an eyebrow. "What? What did you talk about with my mother?"

"Long story, we'll meet this evening at your house after your patrol." Benjamin winked. "Alright?"

"Uh…" Blair shrugged. "Sure?"

She could hear her lifeguards coming up the wooden stairs to the room in which they were in. She nodded to the door, and Benjamin got the message. They'd meet again in the evening—until then, Blair would probably end up staring at the waves and counting birds.

Nothing happened. The tower was cleaned up pretty fast, the base closed and locked for the night. She said bye to her patrol mates, and made her way home. Fortunately, she didn't live too far away and soon arrived at home. The light was still on.

"I'm home!" she called into the living room, finding her mother and Benjamin sitting there.

"Welcome home, dear," her mother greeted her. "Do sit down—we need to discuss this together."

Blair gulped. The last time her mother had told her exactly this sentence had been when her brother had been reported dead, briefly after the confusing time when they had dropped down four castes. Until today, Blair didn't understand the reason for the latter. Her mother didn't want to discuss the topic, giving Blair the worrying idea that it had been her fault.

"We have an idea, and we need your help for it," Benjamin added reassuring.

"Ben, I love you, but you two sound like someone died," Blair pressed out.

Her mother shook her head quickly. "No, no," she replied. "It's more about money."

"That's not better," Blair reminded her. They had her father's life insurance, but otherwise, money was dire. Being a lifeguard didn't make much more than the minimum wage, and her mother, a gardener, didn't make much more. As much as Blair loved the beach, she probably needed to find a new job if she wasn't promoted anytime soon.

"We were thinking—" Benjamin began.

"We?" Blair asked.

"I feel responsible, okay?" Benjamin defending himself. "What I mean is, the Selection—I think you should sign up. If you get in, you'd make a lot of money. If you don't get in, it doesn't make much of a difference. And you'd be a Three."

"Yeah, that's nice and all, but I'm dating you. That's not unknown…"

"Unlike during the King's Selection, the Selected do not need to be virgins—the law legalizing premarital sex is enacted from March on," Ben pointed out.

"If I got in, people would question what about you and our relationship."

"We broke up?" Benjamin shrugged. "I mean… Blair, honestly, I'm still not sure if I can convince my family about you. You always need to be ready to move on, you know."

"I mean, sure, I can sign up—I agree that we need the money, but I'm dating you; _that's_ what I am worried about."

"Maybe," her mother spoke up, "if you were to pretend to break up? Or I entered you without asking? It just requires a signature confirming that all data is true—I can tell the officers in the Province Services Office that you were sick and just wanted the form to be submitted."

"I would suggest doing both," Benjamin agreed. "If anyone asks, I came to meet you to break up—my family will be pleased."

Blair turned her head aside and sighed. That was true—Benjamin's family wasn't exactly an example of people accepting the castes beneath theirs. They were Fours, she was a Six. They were given an A1 reason to look down at her... She leaned into Benjamin.

He liked her.

She liked him.

Was that so difficult to understand?

"I mean," Blair took the form from the table, "I don't want to mess with the law."

"Says the girl that ended patrol early," Benjamin teased.

Blair gave him an annoyed glare. "I'm serious here."

"The Selection forms do not require you to be a virgin," her mother repeated, "nor do they, theoretically, state that you can't be in any relationship. Here, it just talks about being born in Illéa, being an Illéan citizen, having no criminal history, and some other things. You fit in, Blair."

"It doesn't cost signing up either."

"But what if I don't get taken?" Blair replied. "I don't want to break up, Ben."

"Nor do I," Benjamin replied, "but we'll figure it out if that's the case. We could figure out how much it actually costs to upgrade castes—maybe mum and dad would change their mind if you were a Six or Five…"

Blair shook her head. "Not since they heard about us going down from Three to Seven," she reminded him. "And climbing castes is _expensive_. Plus, don't they do background checks if you want to buy your way up?" She turned to her mother.

Said woman looked aside.

"I couldn't ever afford it," she finished. "And I don't want to risk _us_."

"Between the announcement of the Selected and the end of the application period is a month," her mother noted. "If we say I signed you up, then you two could pretend to have some troubles during the month—in case you are Selected. Benjamin could pretend to be outraged and hurt that you applied for the Selection—while you had no idea—and break up. You didn't want to go, but after Benjamin breaking up, you decide to go for the sake of it, or similar."

"That sounds like a plan," Benjamin nodded. "Blair?"

Blair sighed but remained silent otherwise. "Why does this sound like you _want_ to break up Ben?"

"… My parents have been told me to do so, but I refused. Home has been tensed ever since… If you were in the Selection, they couldn't speak up against us marrying as we want to. I love you, honey, but I wouldn't want to run away from my family. I love them too."

Understandable. Benjamin had every right to want to be on favorable terms with his family.

"So, you are at the edge of breaking up with me?"

"I'm… I'm trying to talk them out of it."

Blair glanced at the form on the table. Why not? What would stop her from filling it out and having her mother submit it? If Benjamin was at the edge of breaking up with her either way…

"Alright," she agreed and grabbed the piece of paper. "Can you give me a pen?"

Her mother handed her a pen, and she began filling out the form. It wasn't particularly difficult—Blair could introduce herself (although she did end up writing a little rant about how awesome swimming was…) and the paper was filled quickly enough.

"Just… tell me what do we do if the inevitable comes to be and I'm not selected."

"I will figure out something," Benjamin insisted. "I mean, you're a great team leader—maybe that could translate into management skills? My job makes a decent income, so I believe we could do it, together."

"So, if I'm not selected, you'll tell your family that you chose me over them?"

Benjamin nodded. "I'll always chose you, honey."

Then why did that not feel genuine? For the rest of the evening (be it the takeaway dinner Benjamin brought or anything else), she couldn't help but shake off the feeling that Benjamin was clinging on the last hope to be with her, and otherwise would discard her…

/ / /

 **Valentino Mansion, Medll** **ín, Columbia**  
 **Alessandra "Alex" Valentino**

Alex was damn lucky.

Her mother (or manager, as she preferred to be called), was out to meet some friends in town. Her father was at work. Her brother was the only one at home, but he wasn't the issue. He was probably either doing something he cared about, or working.

Either part wasn't an issue, especially not with what she had just learned from the palace messenger that was patient enough to explain the offer three times. Her mother was going to be against this as much as she disliked her model career and work as a Two (which was weird enough; her parents and brother were Fours, and while buying your way up was cool, people paid much more attention).

"So, I would, at least, spend a month in Angeles?" she inquired. "With that lady-in-waiting training?"

"Yes, exactly," the messenger nodded. "As long as there aren't any... issues occurring, of course."

Alex rose an eyebrow. "What kind of issues?"

Of course, her dream excuse of leaving home had a downside. Of course, her chance to take a break of the model job she had been, kind of, forced upon had some issue.

"Misbehavior, leaking information, if you are viewed as absolutely misfit for the… training. As long as you behave adequately for the situation. If you are to be dismissed from it, it'll cause no issues for you, as long as you followed the law, of course."

Oh welp.

"Okay…?"

"Is that an issue, ma'am?"

Except that she had no filter and spoke like she came from the nearest street party, but she couldn't tell him that. Any excuse to get away from her mother's planned meeting with _Illéa Today_ , a way too popular gossip magazine and the preparation she was going to be forced into was wonderful.

"No, of course no. I was just briefly worried. Where can I sign?"

"The contract would be this. I can walk you through the—"

Alex didn't wait for the messenger to finish his talk about the contract; she grabbed it and the nearest pen as well, scribbling "Alessandra Valentino" onto the line where she expected her name to be required. Thanks to her mum's autograph training, she was _fast_.

"—contract if you'd like me to…. I suppose this works too. Thank you…?"

Alex smiled proudly. "No worries!"

In the end, he (carefully though) insisted on walking through the endless contract either way. This was probably how Alex' brother felt whenever their dad wanted them to go through some stupid work thing or so. CEO of a large oil company or not, his job was terribly boring.

At least it paid well.

The palace messenger introduced her to the outlines for the arrival on the next day that she would need to consider, but it quickly grew evident to her that there wasn't anything she needed.

"Due to security guidelines, you will be provided with food and clothes."

"… So, you need my size?" Alex concluded.

"If you can give it me now, I'll pass it on, but in the first day your own clothes will be acceptable."

Wordless, Alex rose and began searching through the folders on the desk of her 'office' they were in at the moment. Somewhere here, her mother had noted down her measurements. The memory of the tailor (seriously? A _tailor_?) taking her measurements was damn scary.

"Yeet," Alex called and threw the folder at the messenger.

"… Pardon?"

"… Don't worry," Alex replied. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes—her mother kept asking that about pretty much every single word she said that wasn't written in the Oxford Dictionary on the shelf. For someone who called herself manager of a supermodel, she _really_ needed to up her language game…

The next question the palace messenger asked were quite a bit weird—he went from health ("I am _fine_! These anaemia issues are nothing!") to past relationships ("Nope, nothing. Sorry to break it to you, but my mum's pretty harsh on guys. I have lots of guy friends though…?") and other important parts of her life ("Parents bought me up to being a Two when I was thirteen, I was home-schooled and broke a leg when I was three?"), leaving him quite satisfied. Why these questions could, anyhow, be helpful to being a lady-in-waiting (or trainee, honestly, Alex doubted that she could keep her mouth shut around royalty), she didn't get, but she shrugged it off disinterested.

"What's next?"

"You have been home-schooled—that is correct?"

Alex nodded energetic. "That's right."

"Would you describe your education as up to date?"

"Uh…" School hadn't exactly been her strong suit. "I'm average?"

The messenger, who had been working on a clipboard ever since he began the questioning, nodded and scribbled something down. "I believe that these were all things I needed to inquire. Thank you."

"No worries!" Alex beamed.

"Do you have any other questions? Otherwise, someone will come and pick you up tomorrow at nine o'clock. Please be ready five minutes earlier."

"… Nah, don't think so," Alex replied. "

"Very well, then I hope I will see you again, ma'am."

"Yeah, bye!"

Alex waited politely (well, she did pull out her phone to text some friends but details) until the messenger had left the family home. Once he was finally gone, she turned around and blasted through the door to her brother.

"You won't believe what just happened!" she called out cheerfully.

"Did the moon fall from the sky?" her brother asked sarcastically.

"Nope, sorry, it was the sun,"

"Oh, that's too bad."

Pause. Grins spread on the two sibling's faces, and Alex dumped herself onto the sofa in her brother's room. Going by the running television, he wasn't working. Akex' brother dumped the car magazine he had been reading onto the table, and turned his attention to his little sister.

"So, what's happening?"

"I'm finally out!" Alex cheered. "Well, for a month at least."

"Out of what? The closet?" her brother joked.

"Yes," Alex nodded theatrically, "it was abundantly difficult, but I've come out as a…" She searched for something to finish her sentence with. "… Ferrari."

"Our life will never be the same," her brother joked.

"No, seriously. Do you remember the Selection?"

"The one where mum made you fill in the form and you wrote down nonsense?"

"Yeah, that one. I don't think there is another," Alex replied. "I'm fairly sure she exchanged the forms, because I was offered the chance to do some lady-in-waiting casting-thingy."

"What's that? Replacements in case the Selected don't work or so?"

"Nah. More like a companion thing for the next queen. I don't care—it's not like I'll end up having that job, but it's one month without mum pushing me into model work!"

Her brother knew how little she liked model work, so he quickly understood that this was the ideal chance for Alex to get out for a while. However, he too, saw issues.

"Do you think mum will let you do that, though?"

"I dunno," Alex shrugged. "I'm just gonna call it 'royal order', or something like that."

"And that will work?" her brother questioned.

"I mean, I doubt mum will risk getting into anything with the government," Alex replied shrugging. "Plus, I'm sure I can sell it to her as 'There'll be important people I might meet, and contacts,' Or something like that. Even if it's just for dad's work."

"Sounds fun," her brother nodded. "So, when does it start?"

"Tomorrow, I'll be picked up here," Alex explained.

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **Question: What kind of drunk is your OC?**

 **Btw, I forgot this the last 3 chapters, but I did an aesthetic board for Fallout. It's on pinterest millynalava / fallout-aesthetic . Feel free to check it out! :D (And hopefully, I will remember to add the aesthetic lmao).**

 **I love reading your reviews; it's so fun to read them, and I kinda feel like it helps me with learning about your OCs too; thanks to the reviewers! Come and visit the Discord server for spoilers, fun chat and Pokemon games! :D**

 **In other news, as you might noticed, I decided not to include character overviews (like, who is who) but chapter summaries. Someone pointed out that they're a form of spoiler, and I agree with that. Any major character (like, any that I refer to by name (hopefully lmao)) is on my website; you find them separated by royals / selected / others, because I hope that is going to be obvious. I gotta add some but uh… I'm busy writing? xD**

 **However, I'm still struggling with deciding how to deal with the POVs. As of now (besides the Selected intros that I don't count), I've only done the five royals and (except for maybe scenes no one else sees), they are the only characters from me that I want to give POVs. However, having POVs for 28941 characters is going to be confusing too. I can't use the royals' POV for the Selected either; they aren't always present. Anyone got ideas? :/**

 **As for the riddle, the answer was death, as anyone who guessed got correctly. The users from whom I got the right answer are Abizeau, rysaspirit, Cookiedoodles168, Sabrinathafangirl, sevenzeroseven and Headless Gummy Bear. If you aren't among these but sent me the right answer, please tell me quickly!**

 **Next chapter:** »You want to guilt trip him? «


	7. Chapter 6

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Victoria had a nightmare. The scenes of the Selected are not set parallel._

 **Chapter 06**

»You want to guilt trip him? «

 **Illéa Palace Gardens, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

The sun wasn't high enough in the sky to make it a hot day yet.

Xander didn't know whose idea it had been to build a pool on the palace grounds, but he definitly was glad to have it. In the early hours of the day, he was quietly swimming his laps. He wasn't too happy that he had spent the last nights working. Sophia probably was going to give him another talk about health sleep habits.

He was aware that she had a point.

At least she wouldn't talk to him about the night before last night. He stopped when he reached the one end of the pool, and looked towards the empty garden. What was it this time that frightened him?

He could _see_ the guards. Their shift had just begun; they had slept well and were attentive. Not one—not in six years of civil war—had managed to enter the Illéa Palace. There had been a break into Hill Castle, but the intruder was caught while breaking in. Victoria and Lucia had been taken outside the boundaries of the royal family's strongholds.

"It is not the war," Xander told himself.

Even if he didn't want to admit it, he knew what was causing him trouble. The reason why he couldn't fall asleep again, and why he had been so quick to go and see Victoria that night. Xander wasn't going to admit it.

He pushed himself off the wall to swim another lap. The white clouds in the blue sky were passing by, blown by the soft breeze of the calm day. Time was running out. The announcement was coming anytime soon.

They could still call it off. No one knew, it wasn't official. Even though they had decided to save money by basing the compensation the families received on the Selected's income and the family's income, he didn't like the numbers. They weren't going into the red again, but too close in his opinion.

Then were the four-hundred and four other things he needed to look at.

"You've been in the water for fifteen minutes longer than usual," someone called. 'What's up, Xander?"

In the middle of the pool, Xander stopped to look up and recognised Evan Cavanah standing at the edge. He was off-duty, evident by the lack of uniform. Xander wanted to open his mouth and give his friend a response, but honestly? He didn't know.

Or at least he didn't want to know.

"If I only knew that," he replied in a matter-of-fact voice. If he only knew that, he could do something against it.

"Is it Victoria?" Evan asked. Out of all in his unit back in the army, Evan had always been that one person who they could go and talk to. If they couldn't handle the violence and death, they went to talk to Evan. He wasn't the best soldier, but Xander trusted him. Enough that Evan was one of the few to guard Victoria's door by night.

Xander swam to the side and pulled himself out of the pool easily. A towel and change of clothes were waiting for him as always, and Xander took it now.

"When I went to talk to her yesterday," he told Evan, "she was fine—as always. I'm not even sure if she remembers the dream anymore."

"She was a mess at night," Evan pointed out. Again, besides his family, Evan was the only one to get away with such a comment. "I'm worried; she isn't getting better." The worry was written into Evan's sad expression. He knew how much Victoria meant to Xander.

"You're right," Xander nodded sternly. "But what can we do? She refuses to see anyone, and I can't bring myself to force her to do it."

"Look," Evan looked into the Crown Prince's eyes, "sometimes the best thing hurts most."

"She has been hurt enough, Evan."

"I agree, but I don't want to be attacked by pillows anytime I need to go in and check on her. She has a scary aim," Evan joked, "I can't just not go in; she might be in the middle of being killed."

Xander sighed, even though Evan's comment brought out a brief chuckle. "You're right," he agreed. "There were a few other things I was considering, before doing that, though."

"Which are?"

"Let's not discuss that here," Xander replied.

Fortunately, Evan nodded. Just like Xander, he was aware of the fact that the press still took interest in the lost princess' wellbeing and state; any guard or servant could be listening on their behalf. Finding the one who talked was impossible—it was a miracle that the Selection hadn't been leaked by anyone, yet.

Remembering the Selection, Xander cringed.

"What's up?" Evan asked. He knew that this wasn't the battlefield where bad news could arrive any second—this was the palace, and bad news arrived punctual at eight o'clock in Xander's office. It was seven o'clock.

"Nothing," Xander lied. "I just remembered some work stuff."

"Which is? You looked like we just go the news of another attack on a hospital, like in Year Five." Year Four of the Great Unrest had been a nightmare. Back then, the rebels had been gaining more and more foot in Angeles, and three state-run hospitals, full of civil victims and wounded soldiers, had been bombed. They had hoped that the random bombings from Year Zero had ended when the rebels got their hands on Victoria and Lucia, but they returned.

Evan knew that it was risky to speak about these things, but Xander was a realist. Rather than mourning, he wanted to spend his time with making sure there wasn't going to be a fourth one. There never had been one.

"Not exactly," he spoke hesitant.

"Are you nervous about the Selection?" Evan questioned.

"I would never be," Xander insisted. "It's an honoured tradition of Illéa and—"

Evan deadpanned.

"I am _not_."

"I bet you ten dollars that you'll turn into an awkward muffin."

" _I am not, Evan_!"

Evan laughed. "I'll make sure to make you pay me my ten dollars."

Xander sighed. Let alone to wipe that amused grin out of Evan's face, he needed to calm down and make sure he wasn't going to be an 'awkward muffin'. Why did that sound like something his father and sister came up with? Probably because they must have.

"Did my sister pay you to do this?"

"No, but I should invite her on the bet."

"I'm sure father will be in as well."

"Oh, and Ernest too. Thanks for the list. I'll give it back to you later. I'll probably just mail the whole unit if they want on."

Xander shook his head amused. "Seriously, Evan…"

/ / /

 **Xander's Office, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

Unfortunately, Xander did not have the time to spend the whole day with his best friend; work called and punctual at eight o'clock he found himself working in his office. He was writing on the speech for the _Report_ (or, rather, procrastinating it) when someone knocked on the door.

Xander welcomed the distraction. "Come in."

"Do you have a minute, Xander?"

Jonathan Wilde quietly opened the door. His grandfather was the General of the Army, making the first thing Xander expected to be a discussion about the Illéan military. He nodded. Anything to get him away from the speech was a good thing; he just couldn't find the words. He probably needed to consult with Sophia. Maybe Louis and Ernest too.

"Of course. Is this about the arrangements for Paloma?"

"No," Jonathan chuckled. "I'm not done with that yet."

"What is it then?" Xander furrowed his eyebrows. Jonathan was coordinating the presence of the army in Illéa right now, including the withdrawal of troops from Paloma; what else was there that he wanted to discuss?

"The Selection," Jonathan replied.

Xander crossed his arms and frowned. Why was it that everyone wanted to discuss the Selection today? Evan had, Xander remembered. Evan had brought up the topic after Xander had expressed worry. However, he hadn't seen Jonathan today.

Was he part of Evan's bet?

"What about it?" Xander asked professionally, and placed the notes for his (currently non-existent) speech aside. As much as he needed to get it done, he just _couldn't_. He was just starring at the paper.

"A few things, actually," Jonathan took a seat, "but particularly, it is your father's role in it."

"Father's role?" Xander repeated. He leaned forward. His father had no role in the Selection.

"I know your schedule, Xander. Assuming you don't plan to give up your free time or sleep—which I don't hope—you do not have _time_ for the Selection."

"There isn't _that_ much that I need to do in person," Xander remarked. He had thought about this already. As of now, he was running the country; he didn't have time to deal with girls 24-7. That was why he had Sophia organise the Selection and spend time with them; she would act as his eyes and report to him.

"Xander, you will not find a wife like this." Jonathan leaned back. "Even if you are approaching the Selection as a job interview, this won't make the Selected more willing to marry you. _They_ are expecting romance."

Xander remained silent at first. Sophia had mentioned this again and again. If he asked his brothers or friends, they probably would agree. The Selection required romance, but honestly—did Xander have any idea of how that worked? No. Ernest did. Louis read enough romance novels. Sophia had experience too. He? None. Zero. Nada.

In preparation for the Selection, he had read through records of the previous Selections. Spencer Illéa, Charles Illéa, Aaron Illéa, Aaron Illéa, Henry Illéa and his father, Adrian Illéa. The first two hadn't been completely influenced by love, but the following three? On the prince's side, it definitly had been love. However, out of the past three Queens, only one had the genuine support of the whole of Illéa.

Xander didn't know what to respond. He didn't even know what he _thought_. Expectations never had been a problem, but now? He had no idea.

"I am aware of the expectations," the prince regent eventually said.

"What are _you_ expecting? Not as regent, but as a person?"

"Lots of trouble and issues," Xander replied pessimistic.

Jonathan chuckled. "You haven't even selected the ladies yet, but you already mistrust them?"

"I don't _mistrust_ them but…"

"But what?"

He wasn't sure, or rather, he wasn't going to admit it to himself. There was this nagging that he couldn't explain. Was he hungry? Maybe, but he had just eaten breakfast. It couldn't be the reason.

Deep down, he knew why, but that wasn't going to be a reason he could give Jonathan. Not as long as he didn't admit it himself. Xander looked aside, dodging Jonathan's eyes. One of the walls was, thanks to Sophia, decorated with photos of his family primarily. His eyes stopped at the image of the late queen.

Something that she used to say reminded him of another worry he had.

"I fail to see a commoner girl fit into royal life. I've spoken to Louis and Ernest; they both agreed that when they stayed with commoners, life was incredibly different. Such a change will take time to adjust."

"Louis stayed with farmers, and worked with them," Jonathan pointed out.

"Ernest stayed with an acclaimed film and theatre director, and he agreed."

"What about your grandmother? Helena is, in every aspect, a Queen. If I didn't know better, I would have thought that she was born a Queen. She wasn't. She was a born Five, even if her family was unusually successful."

"What did you think of mother when father was holding his Selection?"

"She was used to the spotlight, and she loved it." Jonathan laughed almost embarrassed. "About your parents though… I certainly thought that Lysandre and Adrian were a fitting couple," he pointed out, "but whenever she wrote letters home or called, she was raving about the palace life and royalty. Never a single world about your father. I might not be the best person to judge, but I always thought she loved the crown more than your father."

"I know." He had long ago stopped believing that their parents' marriage was a perfect fairy tale. There were many proofs that Lysandre cared for Adrian, but Xander couldn't imagine for that to be the case if Adrian hadn't been the heir apparent.

"She was happy though; your father was happy too… The privilege though, it was a bit too much for her." He sighed. "Sometimes I still wonder if we just… tried to make her too happy."

"Thinking about the past won't change it," Xander reminded his grandfather. "That's why I am wary, though. It's difficult to find the right person." There was no doubt that Lysandre's presence had been a convincing point for many rebels to join the uprising.

"It was more a failure on our side," Jonathan insisted. "We never taught her to treat everyone with respect."

"People looking down at lower castes is an issue in general," Xander vacillated. "Where are you going with this?"

Jonathan sighed. "I'm not sure. Just like you, I am worried about the One ending up to be someone unfit, but at the same time, I wanted to remind you to take time to meet the girls as a person, not as someone looking for the ideal employee. Taking time for the Selection in general is what I want you to do. Perhaps, I'm getting old and forgetful," he laughed. He was. Jonathan had intended to retire years ago, but with the Unrest, he had stayed to support the monarchy.

"I consider the country a priority," Xander pointed out.

"That's why we need to convince your father to return to his duties. You will not be able to hold a Selection while being fully occupied with running the country. It just won't work. Back during your father's Selection, he nearly dropped all of his duties to focus on the Selection."

Xander agreed. Not particularly because he needed more time for the Selection, but rather that the King needed to return to his duties. Even though Xander was confident into his abilities, he didn't like the idea either. At least Sophia had convinced him to return to the Illéa Palace. It had almost been eight months since the Siege of Angeles.

It was time for the King to return.

"Do you have any suggestions on how we could convince him though? Sophia tried, I tried…"

Jonathan looked through the window behind Xander. "I am not sure myself. I hope that he will come to recognise that you cannot handle the Selection and the country at the same time, but I have grown more and more worried that he might just employ the advisors to assist you rather than returning on his own."

"You want to guilt trip him?"

"Honestly?" Jonathan looked into Xander's eyes. "Yes. It's his duty, and it's time that he gets over it. Harsh words, I know, but Lysandre is my daughter too, and I ended that part as well. I lost my wife during the Unrest, I lost my daughter. My grandchild was taken away, and I kept on fearing for my family, but I am still here." The general clenched his fist.

Harsh words indeed. Maybe it was that his mother always had been closer to Ernest, Sophia and Louis, but Xander too had gotten over her death. He did, however, know that Adrian always loved his wife.

"I see." Xander decided to reply. He and Jonathan agreed over some things, but not about everything.

As much as he wanted his father back, Xander did not want to force him. He couldn't imagine that to be good for the country.

"Forcing him isn't going to work though."

"He needs to do something though," Jonathan insisted. He crossed his arms. "This can't continue like this."

"If we force father into—"

"Xander, your father has a duty, and he has been neglecting it for the past months," Jonathan lectured. "Something needs to happen, period."

"You can't force someone into something and expect good results though," Xander pointed out.

Jonathan ignored him.

Xander bit on his lip. He did not agree with what Jonathan was thinking, but on the other hand, Jonathan _knew_. He couldn't risk it spilling.

"… I'll see what I can do," the Crown Prince gave in.

Glad, Jonathan smiled. "Then I won't interrupt you any longer."

He left without further ado. He had been defeated, Xander thought unhappily. Jonathan had won—he had promised to try to talk to his father. Xander sighed and leaned his head on his arms. He could just employ the advisors to take more work from him, so he had time for the Selection. Louis wasn't too bad at legislations either. He probably would take helping with the government over the Selection.

Xander glanced up to the photos on the wall. How much he wished for Victoria to be here with him right now. The bright, happy princess of the past, before she had been taken by the rebels five years ago, probably would have been able to speak out what was going on.

"How strange," he told himself, "she had only been thirteen, but I always thought she'd end up by my side in the government… But now she's just a shadow of who she used to be."

The nagging feeling in his stomach, however, also reminded him that if he really wanted to, Victoria probably could tell what was going on. Maybe he was afraid of that—the truth of what was causing him worry.

"I don't have time to be afraid," Xander decided, and picked up the pen.

He still had a country to inform of his decisions, a father to get back to work and a wife to find.

/ / /

 **Streets of Granton, Sumner  
Isla Woodley**

The streets of Granton were a mess.

The whole city had been abandoned—building a new one was cheaper than reconstructing this one. Plus, some Illéan scientists had announced interest in following how nature would reclaim the destroyed city. Anything dangerous had been retrieved, and now, Granton was a ghost town.

"Except that it's not," Isla muttered bitter. The car that she hijacked ages ago (hey… the Three it belonged to evidently didn't want it anymore…) had broken down again, and being the mechanic, she was, Isla was standing in front of the car and currently occupied with fixing it.

"How looooooooong?" her little niece, Annie, complained.

Annie probably was the only reason why that goddamn war had been good. No one had come to realise that Annie was a child born out of marriage, and even if a new law was going to be past next month, she theoretically was an Eight.

Lawfully though, her niece-slash-adopted-daughter was a Two, and Isla had no intention to change anything of that.

"Once I've fixed this…" Isla muttered. "Okay, screw it, we need a new car."

Annie leaned out the window (which was gone, courtesy to a nearby explosion and debris), curious what exactly her aunt meant. "Heeh? Can we go and get the pink one then?"

Yeah, that pink car that Annie had been wanting to get so much…

"… Alright." Isla sighed. "Let's go and get it."

Annie followed her back into the once-luxurious (now pretty uncleaned and ugly, oops) mansion in which they currently lived in. Well, ever since the previous owners abandoned it five years ago.

The pink car was one that Isla didn't like because it was too obvious. Her hometown was primarily inhabited by Eights nowadays, and she was pretty sure that one hotel downtown had been a rebel headquarter.

But well, they weren't driving through town but to the closest 'town' (aka, essentially, a refugee camp that turned into a town by now). Since Granton was officially abandoned, no one sent official letters (no taxes, wooh!) to them. That meant that to sign up for the Selection, Isla needed to drive to the next town and get herself a form. She could claim that she lost hers, but she guessed that they'd have her write down an address, so why not be honest?

She grabbed the key that she had identified to be the right one, and the car. If she went to the nearby town, she probably should go and buy (or so…) the stuff she needed for the car as well, alongside their weekly grocery shopping run.

Annie—the daughter of her sister who was elsewhere occupied and living—skipped to the car and climbed on the driver's seat.

"Sweetie, you can't drive yourself," she reminded her, and gently pushed her on the seat next to her. The one positive thing about the pink car was that it wasn't broken or anything. Usually, she took the other one to the nearby town (where she also worked as a mechanic—the people living in Granton weren't worth the trust) but if it didn't go…

"Hey, Isla?" Annie asked.

"Hmm?"

"Are we ever gonna move?"

"I don't know, sweetie," she replied, and sighed. "You know, buying a place to live is very, very expensive, and I can't afford it."

Her employer could barely pay her the minimum wage, and even on that, she really only survived by selling things she 'found' in the abandoned city. At least these untouched flat screen TVs sold well, especially since there were issues with supplying non-necessities to some parts of Sumner and the other 'red' provinces, as the government liked to call them.

There wasn't particularly much Isla was attached to, besides her tool box, so they were quick to drive onto the highway and out of Granton. Most of the suburbs they passed weren't particularly affected, but that probably was because quite a few rebels had been living there.

Obviously, that wasn't official.

The military-made road towards the refugee camp-turned-city wasn't well-cared for, but it was comparatively new, and there were only three places where there had been explosions bad enough to affect the road. They took a moment to decide on which radio to play. Annie won, but that probably was affected by the fact that her five years old niece wasn't the best audience for rock music.

The nearby refugee camp-turned-town was maybe an hour drive away. Annie insisted on driving faster, but Isla stayed stubborn; she wasn't going to get the attention of the police unless she had to. Isla didn't have a driver's licence, and, theoretically, the car was stolen.

Fortunately, the only obvious thing about the car was the old pink paint on it; it was some old model that had been redone. She didn't suddenly look like a Seven who murdered a Two for their car when she stopped near the car park of the closest Province Service Office.

Isla groaned when she saw the full car park, and ended up driving twice around the block before giving up. They weren't going to find a place to park the car unless they were to stop miles away. Exactly that, Isla and Annie did.

While waiting in the line (fortunately not that long anymore), she watched Annie play with some other girls who were giving her confusing and disgusted glares but Annie offered sweet smiles. Stupid upper castes, she thought. They had no idea of hardships.

By the time she managed to get into the office, the sun was setting and Annie was sleeping on her back. She was given a questioning glance by the tired Six sitting in front of her at the desk.

"Form?"

"I haven't gotten one," she replied.

"Everyone got one."

"I live in Granton."

The tired, bored Six groaned and pushed two paper sheets in front of her. "Submit it tomorrow."

Tomorrow was meant to be dedicated to getting money together for the next weeks…

"Can I just quickly fill it out here and then give it to you? Look, I got my ID here, what else do you need?"

"Fill the form," the Six repeated annoyed, "and come back. That's how it works, honey."

"But I have things to do tomorrow."

"So do I. Work. Here. You aren't the first one to ask for an excuse, but sorry, no."

Isla sighed—even Sixes felt superior to her, just because she was a Seven. Typical—and turned around, with the sheets in her hand. The office was about to close, Annie was fast asleep, and she preferred to get home before midnight rather than staying and filling the form now. Grocery shopping had to wait. Ugh.

She placed her niece into the back of the car so she could continue to sleep and quietly—slower, so Annie wouldn't wake up—drove back to the destroyed down. Past the grey, dusty skyscrapers and the ruins of buildings that the rebels had destroyed.

The pink car looked like a wale in the middle of the desert.

Isla's desert wasn't filled with sand but with stones, empty streets, rubbish and things that she wished her niece wouldn't ever need to see. Even though Annie was asleep now, she hopefully was someday going to see something else but a demolished city.

While turning around a corner, she smiled. Yeah, that was the reason she was even bothering with trying for the Selection. Better shelter, home, a caste that'd allow her to study, money, and an adequate home for Annie.

"Even if the Selection is artificial as heck." She sighed. "The Royals shouldn't spend so much money on living fancy but help people instead. The money is needed, and they're spending it like nothing…" She shook her head.

She stopped in front of the house, drove into the inside of the garage, and stopped the car. There was no light—there was no electricity after all. But with the whole city being off the grid, she wasn't going to get much from the houses nearby, and she was running out of lighters.

Another thing to note down.

She folded the two sheets, placed them into the pocket of her pants, and slipped out of the car. Quietly, the tool box was taken alongside her sleeping niece, and she walked back to their borrowed mansion. Both slept together in one room, but the state of the bed reminded Isla that she really needed to do something to clean up…

Isla made sure Annie was sleeping warmly, before lighting a candle and starting to fill in that form for the Selection. She skimmed through the entry requirements, decided that she fitted them even if she didn't and began entering her data.

She spoke about her life in a way-to-long essay before placing the form into the toolbox where she'd definitly find it, and went to bed. She fell asleep with Annie in her arms very soon afterwards.

/ / /

 **Province Service Office Parking Lot, Panama City, Panama  
Deylin Reyes**

Iriana Reyes and Deylin Reyes were sitting outside the Province Services Office. The daughter, Deylin, was already all over her dinner, a sandwich (the last of originally five…), while her mother was reading through the form one more time. It was getting dark already. At least the sun was slowly setting above the skyline of their hometown.

"We probably need to hurry a bit," her mother pointed out, "the office is closing soon. Are you sure that you want to do this?"

Iriana wanted to make sure that she didn't feel like she _had_ to do this, but by now, Deylin had gotten that message. Her mind remained unchanged. As always, Deylin's mother was worried about her children, but Deylin had made her opinion on the Selection clear. If she could try, she would. It was a goddamn chance on money and a caste upgrade, so why not?

"It's fine, mum. I'm sure it's just a secret experiment to mix humans and aliens."

Iriana sighed with a smile, "If that makes you happy, honey…"

Deylin was still chewing her sandwich (with eggs from their neighbour's rooster's girlfriends, as Axel, her younger brother, liked to call the hens), when her mother rose, and nodded towards the slide doors of the building. Quickly, she got up herself. It had been a week since the announcement of the Selection, but there still was a race on who was going to be first there in the morning.

On her mother's only free evening, they had decided to go—it was better than needing to get up in the morning and wasting hours that she could be working.

"You know, there is a member in one of the clubs I helped out the other night who is from Angeles. The city is still being rebuild, but it's getting better." She sighed, before laughing. "What am I doing? I don't want my little girl to go, but then again, you're have a good point… We do need the money…"

"Mum, even if I get selected, I won't be running into the prince's arms," Deylin replied. "Trying won't hurt."

"I know, but Frankie… She nearly screamed when you suggested entering to her…"

"No, she didn't nearly scream," Deylin replied. "She did scream."

Frankie, her younger (moody) sister had been absolutely against the idea of entering the Selection. Probably because she had gotten over their father's passing, but hey! Frankie wasn't the one with the heart condition (and throbbing headache after her screaming…), and it had been years by now.

The two women entered the office and, thanks to the queue consisting of only five people, quickly were able to submit Deylin's application. _Time to go home_ , she thought, as they walked through the parking lot again.

"We need to be careful with Jackson," Deylin pointed out as they walked past one of the (by now probably five years old) pro-caste advertisement. Her little brother was intelligent and bright, but to contribute to the family's income (and paying off the loans), he was tutoring the neighbour's kids. The neighbours were Fours.

He was a Five. That wasn't exactly legal.

"I know," her mother agreed. "I've been trying to talk him into doing art work rather than tutoring… but that's what he's good at in the end. We need the money for Axel and you too…"

Deylin bit on her lip. "Yup, we do…"

Medicine for one heart condition and two ADHD conditions wasn't cheap, even with the war finally being over. Both of the twin brothers were hoping for a scholarship. Frankie was a mystery—however she could be cheered up, Deylin didn't know—and Deylin herself?

She kind of hoped for a miracle.

"Frankie has been making some money too…" her mother wondered. "I'll try and talk to her if she really has been shoplifting."

Deylin glanced at the last piece of the sandwich in her hand. Lots of family drama going on, huh? She took the final bite of her sandwich. An art (probably the most important of all) that her father had taught her.

"Deylin?"

"What?"

"Did you hear me?"

"… I did? Just forgot what you said?" Deylin grimaced. "Damn ADHD."

"I want to talk to Frankie about whenever she has been shoplifting."

"Sounds like a good idea?" Deylin cringed. She had been thinking about approaching her sister, but since the only thing she got from her was slammed doors and screaming, that didn't sound like a very good idea.

"Besides that… I was thinking… Friday evening is the only evening where I don't work. If you don't get selected—which we both know isn't _that_ likely—then I could start working there too. To make more money and all. I know that the economy is getting better again but… I don't want to risk your health, honey."

"Mum… You're doing enough already."

Iriana was the rock of their family, but she was growing exhausted too. The more Deylin helped her mother with handling the gang of little rascals that were her children, the more she noticed that she was growing old.

"I want my family to be happy," Iriana insisted, "and I am willing to do anything for that."

Deylin didn't agree. She clenched her fist and groaned. "Mum, seriously, you're doing enough!"

If it was anyone else, they probably wouldn't have known how to stop Deylin from lashing out, but her mother knew. Her mother remained with a soft understanding smile on her lips.

"I know," she agreed. "So do you though. We all do."

"But—but—mum!" Deylin groaned. "You're overworked, you know?"

"I know."

Deylin gave in. It was hopeless either way. "…Life's crap."

"Exactly," her mother agreed witty. "There we go," she decided.

By the time their conversation had ended, they had reached the small house that they called their home. As usual, it was one big mess, but today, Deylin was too tired to clean it up. She probably should—the mess stressed her mother too much—but, well, Deylin had a heart condition, and was too tired to deal with it.

"We're back!" Her mother's voice was bright and energetic, unlike the dark shadows under her eyes. _Good job pretending, mum._

"Welcome back," Jackson (one of the two twins) greeted them. He was sitting at the kitchen table and doing what seemed to be his homework. He probably was miles ahead of what Deylin knew. Dimmed music was coming from Frankie's room—Abby Moon, Deylin guessed—and she could see her brother balancing a ball on his finger tip in the living room. "Did you get everything done?"

"Yup," Deylin nodded and dumped herself next to him. "How are the others?"

"Frankie came back with _Channel_ clothes," Axel added from the middle of the (messy) room. "We were right. There's no way she has the money to afford that."

"… She hasn't gotten caught yet?" Jackson pointed out. "I don't mean to be mean, but she makes good money…"

"If she gets arrested, that'll cost much more money though," Deylin declared.

"At least she is doing something?" Jackson's poker face wasn't moving at all. "It's better than her hiding in her room all the time."

"She isn't hiding all the time," Axel pointed out, "Frankie does have a job."

Deylin knew that Jackson felt like she did—she wanted Frankie to come out of the hole that she had build for herself, but was she doing that, or was she getting herself into trouble? Nothing she really wanted to deal with.

"Yeah, sure," she muttered. "And I'm the Empress of China."

"I'll talk to her," Iriana decided. Apparently, that was enough; she left to talk to her second daughter. Deylin rose her eyebrows, but gave in to her mother.

"I'll check on the garden," Deylin decided and disappeared to the small garden that they had and she kept. The white roses she planted two years ago were growing and probably were going to blossom very soon.

Next to the roses, some older sculptures she had made when she had been younger had fallen over. Deylin sighed, disappointed. With her family needing more money for her and Axel's medication, she hadn't come to spend time on sculpturing at all.

Too bad that pottery-making made more money; she still wished she could do sculptures rather than pottery.

Deylin watered the garden, but otherwise, it still looked pretty well-kept, so she returned inside. Axel was gone—probably running again—and Jackson was reading a book from his school's library. Frankie was in her room talking to their mother.

Everything normal, huh?

A few days later, she had totally forgotten the Selection form, and was taken by surprise by the offer of the training. Not that she'd ever mind the offer if it meant money and a caste upgrade, so she took the offer to go to Angeles hoping that her mother would figure her siblings out on her own. She probably would. Iriana Reyes always managed to overcome challenges. Hopefully, Deylin would do the same.

/ / /

 **Minnie's apartment, Aster City, Allens  
Minerva "Minnie" Whitefield**

Honestly? Minnie was back to questioning her life choices.

It was midday by the time she woke up with a terrible headache. What in the world had she done yesterday evening to get such a hangover? She got drunk (that one was for sure), but for now, she ignored the lack of memories of last nights and stumbled to the bathroom instead. She tried hitting the light switch, and groaned. Way too bright. Off again.

She probably spent too much time in the bathroom, vomiting yesterday's dinner.

"What's today…" she muttered when she _finally_ left the bathroom, and stumbled to the kitchen to get herself water. Her first try to check the date was the frame where a picture of herself and her dads from her high school graduation was. Wrong one, next. The birthday card from a friend at work—what was that one even doing in the kitchen? She shook her head, yawned and opened the fridge.

Whatever date today was had to wait.

She glanced at the stickers on the fridge (her idea when she had been thirteen…) and grimaced at the photos of her thirteenth birthday. Why hadn't she removed that one by now? Terrible. She grabbed her favourite blue cup, filled it with water, and began making her (very late) breakfast.

Going by her phone, it was a Sunday. Made sense, huh? She usually went out on Friday and Saturday. Work started on Monday, and she wasn't going to risk her internship at I-TEC just by arriving with a hangover. Not when I-TEC was among the leading companies in Illéa at the moment.

"So…" Minnie stopped, dropped onto the couch and began eating her breakfast. "What do we do with this nonsense…"

She probably should go out, workout, or have a shower. Do stuff she usually did, not lay on the couch and do nothing, but then again… why bother? Minnie glanced at her bullet journal laying on the living room table since she had forgotten to put it back. Her mood tracker for this month was one very big mess.

"Not a mess…" Minnie commented. All of them were on the absolute low. At least February was almost over, huh? She probably could somehow cope. The whole stress at work had _really_ not been good…

She turned her page, looking at her monthly budget, passed by the TV shows she was watching with her dads and past her to-do list. She glanced at the monthly overview, groaned at how much she still had planned, even though the month was over, and she didn't have many more plans? Or something like that.

"So… dad wants me to return some books to the library," she read out from this week's to-do list, "and dad wants me to go and pick up the new law style guide…"

One of her father's was an architect, the other was a defence attorney. Pretty different choices of career, but Minnie _knew_ that they belonged to each other. No matter what people said or not.

With another annoyed groan—life really liked to trouble her, huh?—she got up and walked back to her room to change, shower, get ready for the day, and brush her teeth (although not in that order). By the time she was done with all that, the clock told her that she probably just could go and meet her friends for lunch or something.

She did, missing a poor palace messenger who had been waiting for someone to open the door for forever. It was only evening when she came back (lunch had turned into a greater meetup, oops) that she learned of the messenger's visit.

"Welcome back!" One of her dads—the architect—called when she came into the living room. "You've got a guest, Minnie!"

As usual, he was warm and caring, probably worrying about her hangover from the morning that Minnie had forgotten already, evident by his welcoming cup of tea and hug. She smiled, but Minnie's father knew that she wasn't going to accept it.

"I don't need this," she thought. Not meant to be mean—despite the drop in her father's smile—but because she could do without it! She was a grown up, and she was able to stand on her own. She didn't need help. She didn't need help. She _was_ fine.

"You have a guest," he repeated after Minnie didn't react to his words.

"… Do I?" she repeated surprised. "Who? I just met up with some friends…"

"Not exactly," her father replied. "Let's go and meet him."

Her home was one of good quality—if the Whitefields wanted to, they probably could become Twos—hence Minnie's popularity back in school, but the way the 'guest' acted almost made him looked like a prince in a slum.

"Good evening, Miss Whitefield," he greeted her.

"Hi," Minnie replied, not bothering to be polite. "Since you seem to know who I am… _Who_ are you?"

"Not of too much importance."

"You sound like some random mysterious government agent who plans to recruit me for some superhero-action adventure."

"I'm afraid that's not for what I am here."

"Sad life," Minnie dropped onto the couch. "What can I do for you then? If it's not a superhero adventure, do you want me to tell you how much money you can spend on the superhero suits without getting into the minus?"

"I… You might end up talking about something similar," the messenger admitted, "but probably not superhero suits… Actually, if that's a metaphor, yes."

This was enough for Minnie's other dad—the defence attorney who probably had gotten anything out of the messenger just by talking by now—who harrumphed.

"Apparently, your application to the Selection has gained interest for a training program for ladies-in-waiting," he hissed. "Or so he claims."

"Well, she has a valid identification, and…"

"I agree with Mr. Whitefield, Mr. Whitefield…" the palace messenger sighed. "Yes. Let me talk through this again. I tried to reach you during the day, but unfortunately was unable."

Minnie glanced to her phone on the table. Yeah. Right. She had forgotten to take it. Her bullet journal had come along, but her phone hadn't. Oops.

"So, lady-in-waiting training instead of superhero-action?"

"Yes," the messenger nodded. "To explain—"

 _Insert ten minutes of exposition that Minnie honestly didn't listen to because she was tired and more interested in preparing for work tomorrow._

"So… long-story-short, you want me to join your program-y without a guarantee on any success and keep quiet about it? _Sure that you aren't planning some secret training?_ "

"Well, the training is meant to be kept on low profile…?"

"Yeah, I got the message. Care to elaborate why I should care? I mean, I got a nice internship, good chances on getting a nice follow-up job, and plans to make my own business?"

"Plans?" her father questioned. It probably didn't matter who of them was asking—both worried in their own way.

"Yeah," Minnie nodded, not looking up. "Well, the idea of having my own business. Not much more. Details. Whatever. Playing some friend at court won't be very helpful on my CV compared to working at I-TEC."

"It looks good on your CV, I can assure you that."

"Yeah, I don't believe that."

"As well—and I don't mean to be completely convincing because I acknowledge that this is your choice—I can already give you household names in Illéa involved that might have an interest in supporting you."

"Such as…?"

"Anderson Tailor's daughter, for example," the messenger replied.

Oh, yeah, okay, that was a point. Tailor hotels were all over the country.

"Lady Veira Schreave as well," he went on.

Yeah, even Minnie knew that the Schreaves weren't nobodies. More politicians than business people, but from the lady's Instagram, she could derive that they had heaps of money that could be used as sponsoring for possible future business.

"As well, there could be people who you might find to be helpful with creating your own business. I have unconfirmed interests that have similar ambitions and surely would be a good choice for business partners, Miss Whitefield."

Would there? Probably. If there was something that Minnie probably struggled with was the fact that her friends were helpful for partying, getting drunk, forgetting what they did at night and other dumb stuff, but business?

Most of them probably couldn't even spell that word.

"Go on…?"

"I have been assured that if you don't find yourself interested, I am sure an early leave can somehow be negotiated with the organisation."

"… Cool…" Minnie nodded. "Can you give me more information on the actual training?"

"For the first month, the primary plan is a training during the daytime, with exceptions, whereas the evening and weekend is up to you. Angeles is, I can assure you, a very nice… place to spend Friday afternoons. I'm speaking of my own experience."

"Cool. Like?"

"Oh, well, I can assure you that His Royal Highness, Prince Ernest is round about every second week in _The Goldfinger_ , and his taste is exquisite." Was it really necessary to say that damn long title?

Right, she had heard of the second prince's habits. He probably was much more interesting than the uptight heir apparent. Understandable, in her opinion, too. Minnie had heard of _The_ _Goldfinger_ —it had its own reputation for being a luxurious members-only bar-club-thing that she had been wanting to see in a while.

"I think I'm in—if you can make sure I keep my internship."

"I will take care of that," her father promised. The attorney one—meaning her poor supervisor would probably end up frightened.

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **Next chapter:** »Against popular opinion, Ernest did do work«

 **Unless school gets worse, I should be able to post every second week. I aim to eventually get to once a week (on Fridays / Thursdays for most of you), but for that, I want to have a term of pre-written chapters, meaning 11 to 13. That will definitly take a while.**

 **Thanks to Abi for beta-ing, like always. I hope this is the beta-ed version. / hides /**


	8. Chapter 7

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Xander finally took some time off and learned that his best friend, Evan, is betting on him being an awkward muffin. He also spoke to his grandfather, Jonathan, about the Selection, the workload and his father's involvement into the government. Jonathan tried to talk him into bringing his father back to work, and convinced him. As always, the Selected's scenes aren't set parallel._

 **Chapter 07**

»Against popular opinion, Ernest did do work«

 **Illéa Palace Entrance, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Prince Ernest of Illéa**

Ernest slipped out of the car effortless. The flight from Lakedon hadn't been exactly how he imagined to spend this day, but at least he had been able to sleep. He wasn't planning on doing that today.

He only took off his sunglasses when he stepped inside the majestic building that he called his home. Following visits to military bases, a refugee camp and other philanthropy work that had taken a lot of time, he had managed to convince the people in charge to let him have less on his schedule for the upcoming two weeks. He was going to work for the whole of March though. It wasn't going to be fun, but at least there wasn't anything for him to miss.

The sun was already setting over the skyline of Los Angeles when he had eaten a late lunch (or early dinner which it honestly was going to be) and skimmed through the briefs he had been given.

Against popular opinion, Ernest did do work. Well, some at least.

Not much today though; Friday meant _Report_ , and unfortunately, he wasn't very welcome on the set. Maybe because he had once ended up making out with the assistant director in a broom closet, and the new intern walked onto them?

In his defence, Ernest had still been wearing most clothes. The same couldn't be said for the assistant director, but at least, she looked cute.

He dropped the _Report_ summary onto the table and went off to go and change. His evening plans required a different choice of clothing; a semi-formal suit did not fit that. Even if he was going to turn up in this attitude, it probably was too expensive to get someone to throw up onto it. Once changing into a nightlife-adequate outfit was done, he headed out again. The sun had set.

"Where are you heading?" Ernest could hear the accusation in Louis' voice.

Swiftly, he turned around and grinned. "Guess where, little brother," he teased.

"Ernest, do you even read the news?"

He shrugged. "No, not really. Did anything interesting happen?"

Louis groaned (in the most royal manner possible) and shook his head. "You are impossible."

"That's an oxymoron."

"Did you learn a new fancy word and have to include it into every single sentence? It's a figure of speech."

Ernest chuckled. "Maybe?"

"The newspapers are, once again, snapping at us."

Where they now, huh? Not long, Ernest thought. The Selection would probably do the job. If not, well, that was Xander's problem to deal with. He was the one doing the job interview Selection. He looked at his brother. Perfectly dressed as always, but stiff.

"Us?" Ernest rose an eyebrow. "They don't snap at grandma or Vic."

" _Of course_ , they don't," Louis replied grouchy. "They complained about you flirting with women in Lakedon, and me—" Louis broke off. "I don't even understand their point. Illiterate freaks," he spitted.

"Oh." Ernest was unimpressed. Why could he imagine the news being focused on Louis and just briefly mentioning Ernest's existence on the side line? "Didn't we play by the rules then, dear brother?"

Louis laughed out in disbelief. "How can you be so ignorant?"

Ernest's grin didn't move an inch. "They didn't mention me, did they?" he asked. His victory, once again. Louis didn't understand the game. He maybe knew how to do politics, but he didn't know how to work with the public. Books wouldn't teach him how to face the people of Illéa.

"Of course, they did not! Because why in the world would they care about you breaking all standards of society and making out with the governor's daughter when they can criticise that I walked past some stupid Eight begging?"

Theatrically, Ernest sighed. "Deep is the mystery what is born among the very deepest points of our dearest souls, but yet the light is as attainable as a torch on the walls of a dungeon. It is a challenge of uttermost importance to achieve the fulfilment of the void left by the shadows of our very own demons."

Silence. No one appreciated his impromptu poetry, ever. Such a misfortune!

"Dude, live with it. Our life's a show for the rest of the world." He rolled his eyes. "We play our roles. I'm the bad boy. I do dumb stuff and people expect it. You are either the shy cute bookworm, or the rich privileged white boy. Chose a role and stick to it."

" _You broke the law_."

"Terrible," Ernest replied sarcastic. "It's part of my role, and I live with it. Play your part and everyone's happy."

"I will not put a show on for _anyone_. I am a One. I have contributed far more to society than dumb socialite Twos have! I've done much more than some random cleaner Six will ever do! I refuse to let that—"

"Sad life."

"Don't—" Louis stopped to take a deep breath and calm down. "Ernest, by all respect, you need to have some standard."

"Worried that all girls will fall for me?" he teased in return.

"It is Xander's Selection," Louis reminded him. "It would be inappropriate for you to—"

"I know, I know," Ernest winked, "and I promise that I won't sleep with every single of the thirty-five girls."

"That's—That's not what I meant!" Louis grew red.

Oh, what a terrible brother he was, Ernest thought. He probably should stop teasing poor Louis. But seriously—he needed to calm down. He was even worse than usual. Probably _because_ of the Selection. But then again, Ernest wasn't a counsellor either. If even, Sophia filled _that_ role.

"You really need to relax, Louis."

" _How am I meant to relax if the press is watching me the whole time?_ " Louis demanded to know, desperate. His eyes were as wide open, too. Ernest had gone a bit too far. Oops.

"Oh, that's pretty easy," he laughed. "Come with me, and I'll show you."

Much to his surprise, Louis reluctantly agreed.

/ / /

 **The Goldfinger, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Prince Ernest of Illéa**

Los Angeles was huge. Even if the past two world wars and the civil war had made so much lasting damage all over the country, Los Angeles was still a metropolis. Maybe the term 'again' was correct, but whatever. Ernest wasn't a historian.

The place he pulled Ernest with him was a bar-slash-night-club called 'The Goldfinger'. Not the most popular establishment in town, but certainly a place of quality. Going by Louis' expression, he probably expected a mafia headquarter.

"Don't worry," Ernest joked, "I don't think the mafia's here today."

Knowing that Louis would probably freak out if anyone recognised him, he had lent him his own clothes (which, honestly, looked ridiculous on his younger brother) alongside sunglasses (during night time, but yeah, style…) and a baseball cap.

"People will recognise me. Us." Louis kept muttering that on and on; it annoyed Ernest by now.

"Yeah, no. People will recognise me, and that's because I have lots of friends." Louis snorted. "More than Cupcake does."

"… Don't come with father's nicknames, Ernest."

"Baguette, I hate them as much as you do, but if you're so worried about being recognised, introduce yourself as Baguette. There's a reason I never told anyone about them—besides being humiliating. They're good aliases."

Next to him, Louis snorted again. They walked up to the bouncer (who immediately made Louis shrink two sizes) who, fortunately, knew Ernest _very well_. He just nodded them off, not even demanding any form of ID. Advantages of being royalty—the only one Ernest liked to use.

The bar wasn't very full yet, but the TV was running in the background, waiting for the _Report_ to begin. Using the yet-empty rooms, Ernest took the chance to show his brother around and greet some friends.

"I'm gonna hang around in the bar for now, but I'll probably switch to the club eventually," Ernest informed him when he finished. "Don't bother me unless you think you were drugged."

"What?"

Ernest turned around and waved. "Have fun," he called out. He was a terrible brother, truly. Leaving Louis (who probably had forgotten where he even was in the establishment…) in order to head to the bar was pretty easy though. He hadn't come here to babysit after all.

There were things to forget about and other things to do.

The Goldfinger filled as the evening went on, and punctual at eight o'clock, the television went from a blank notice to the Illéan anthem. Most people in the club were clever enough to at least give the television half-an-ear. After the war, everyone knew that the _Report_ sometimes had important information to tell.

"Boring for ya?" The good old bartender (another friend of Ernest) asked the prince.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I can spoiler lots."

The bartender grimaced. "Anything interesting?"

"Actually," Ernest leaned forward, "if I tell you, do I get a free drink?"

Amused, he laughed. "I'm pretty sure I get the _Report_ for free, your highness."

"Aww, nothing for your favourite customer?"

"Nope."

Ernest paid attention to the television again. The General of the Army, his maternal grandfather Jonathan Wilde, spoke about the last present troops in the red provinces. The provinces that had been hurt most in the Great Unrest, including his home, Angeles. Armed forces were almost completely ready to withdraw—finally—and only units were to remain to help rebuilding. Alongside that, by the end of April, any soldier who was under eighteen when drafted was to return home, if they desired to.

"So, lots of damaged kids coming home," the bartender commented.

Ernest agreed. They didn't have the resources to help them to deal with possible PTSD yet. Was leaving them in the army a good choice though? No, Ernest doubted that. The damage had been done, and he knew that his brother and father had done all they could to prevent it.

The Report went on, reaching Helena's announcement for her yearly concerts.

"I am glad to announce that I am able to pick up a tradition I have missed for a long while," the Queen Mother (on the television) announced to reporters and journalists. "From the middle of April of this year, I will be able to visit every province of Illéa alongside amazing, talented musicians to hold charity concerts. This years' benefits will go to the victims of the Great Unrest."

Would that influence the Selection? The girls probably would still be there when the Queen Mother reached Angeles. The last time she had done this—when Ernest had been a young child and tagged along—she had been gone for eight weeks. This once had been Helena's charity project when she had been a Selected; she had brought more than one Five, fame that allowed them to buy their way up. She never stopped, even when she became Queen.

"You don't need a title to perform for others," she always told them—whenever she could, at least.

The footage went on to work of him and Sophia, another piece of politics on the pre-marital sex law that was finally being passed (after being ignored for, literally, all of its existence), and work that Louis and their grandmother had done. No mention of the King, no mention of the younger princess, as always.

Another bit of politics in regards of foreign relationships. The visit of the New Asian president had been scheduled. Xander was going to meet him, Ernest realised, not their father. For all he knew, the King could be dead with him not appearing on the _Report_ at all. Ernest sighed. Xander was going to handle this. He had Chinese translators after all.

The Report switched to a footage of Xander. He was going to announce the Selection, Ernest realised.

"Good evening, Illéa," the Crown Prince greeted the country. Ernest was less impressed than others; how did they feel about this announcement? He met his brother nearly every day and knew him well, but how did the country feel about him? How did the country feel about Sophia? Louis? Their father? Even if Ernest asked people—which he did quite a few times—he knew that their opinions expressed towards him would always be filtered. Maybe that was why it had been so good to meet people who didn't bother to filter it, back then during the Great Unrest…

"It has been a tradition ever since my ancestor, Spencer Illéa, married his beloved wife, Grace Lowell, for the heir to the throne to hold a Selection," Xander spoke. Ernest knew that Xander had considered touching their father's Selection, but it was ultimately not a good idea, considering the country's opinion on Lysandre.

"Because of the Great Unrest, and the damages that terrorist have done to our beloved country, I decided to wait. There were much, much more pressing matters to be taken care of, and there still are. However, I am confident to say that recovery is happening right now. With an exception of the central-west provinces, it is only a matter of time until the restorations are finished."

Ernest looked up. He had read an older version of the script (which now included a thanks to the Sevens who were the main driving force in restoring the country; Ernest presumed that Xander left it out to avoid caste system debates—he probably placed the idea back for when restorations ended) after getting it from that cute new assistant director (and a bit of _convincing_ since the script was meant to be confidential, and Ernest wasn't the best in keeping things confidential…) and it included some changes.

"I have been considering this for the past month, and decided that it was time. The Great Unrest is over, and it's time to move on. I believe that our beloved country deserves a reason to celebrate, and I hope that finally holding the Selection will be such an occasion."

Ernest could hear the reactions of (predominantly) the girls in the bar. It was, fortunately, the reactions that the Illéas had hoped for—positivity.

"Tomorrow, letters are to arrive in the homes of all eligible daughters of Illéa. However, since the last census is old, it is possible that you might not receive a letter even though you are meant to. The Provinces Service Offices will be able to supply these if that is such a case. We considered holding a census first, but I believe that the money that would be invested into it should be invested into making sure that the country is able to recover and heal."

Ernest leaned against the bar, curious. How would Xander explain the time frame? The Crown Prince named requirements of age and the dates, before finally coming to the reason behind the time frame between the end of the application period and the announcement.

"Considering recent events, I have decided to follow a larger security procedure than there has been in the past, hence the timeframe between the end of the application period and the announcement. I wish to be able to accommodate the needs and wishes of all thirty-five Selected ladies," Xander spoke. Was he nervous? He looked much more tense than usual, Ernest realised. He _was_. Good that he placed a bet on awkward muffin then, huh? "Past experiences have taught us that especially the beginning of the Selection can and is a period of great stress, and it is my aim to assure everyone that this isn't the case this time." Except for him, apparently. "I hope you will be able to understand that. Thank you very much." Roll credits.

"So, that's the interesting news?" the bartender asked Ernest after remaining silent for a moment.

"Yup."

"Where are they banning you to? Panama or Baffin?"

"Surprisingly, nowhere," Ernest pointed out optimistic. "Give me a Sex on the Beach."

"Oh, well, that's new." The bartender turned around to do his job, leaving Ernest in the hopeful belief that he could have a moment of processing things, but no—his little brother had to show up, low-key annoyed. Except that Louis wouldn't say low-key.

"How're you going?"

"I'm going—home! You left me alone!"

"I'm alone too?"

" _Ernest_."

"Sandwich," Ernest corrected.

"What?"

"Very eloquent, brother." Ernest turned to the bartender. "Make that two."

Louis clumsily sat down onto the stool next to him and glared at him. "So, what are we doing here?"

"Hanging out, meeting people, whatever. There are lots of really cool people here." Primarily lower castes and college students, but Louis didn't need to know that.

The bartender returned with the two drinks, but scrutinised Louis. He probably had expected company with more feminine appearance.

"I presume it's on you, as always?"

"Doesn't make much of a difference, except that I have money on me. Meet my brother—the younger one. I doubt I could talk Xander into going to a club with me," he laughed. "Even _I_ have limits!"

The bartender shrugged—two royals made more money than one—and returned to dutifully cleaning the bar while the music was blasting in the background. Louis cringed at the beat drop.

"So, and now?"

"Drink," Ernest advised. "This'll be a long night, and you won't want to be as stiff as you're now." A genuine advice for once, he thought.

Twenty minutes and a few more drinks later, Prince Louis of Illéa was tipsy and laughing at his own (unfunny) jokes. If Ernest wasn't a little bit worried about how much Louis would hate him after this, he'd probably laugh too.

If it wasn't Louis who'd kill him, then Jonathan would do it.

"Oh welp," he muttered, and pointed towards a few girls. "Hey, Baguette. Go and try your luck. You gotta practise," he told his brother—consequently worsening his fate. He probably wasn't completely sober anymore either.

He watched a suddenly-confident Louis chat with the girls ( _hopefully they weren't going to post anything…_ ) and ordered another drink. Time to call the counsellor and figure out what to do.

 **Ernest:** I did a dumb thing.

 **Sophia:** What?

 **Ernest:** I'm at The Goldfinger.

 **Ernest:** With Louis.

 **Sophia:** Did you kidnap him?

 **Ernest:** Nah. Talked him into it.

 **Sophia:** I'm not sure if that's better.

 **Ernest:** Same. Grandpa'll kill me lmao

 **Sophia:** Let's hope no one catches wind of this. I hope that the Selection news will distract everyone…

 **Ernest:** I mean, imao, he really needs to relax and it might help. Plus, I know the folks here—they won't post anything.

 **Sophia:** People do stupid things when they are drunk, Ernest.

 **Ernest:** YoU dOnT sAy

 **Sophia:** Just make sure he gets home tomorrow.

Yeah, that sounded like something he could do. Maybe flirt with some girls, have a good time. Forget what was going to happen, and that Xander knew that they'd need to please _both_ the upper and lower castes with the Selection. Expectations that Ernest, honestly, didn't want to deal with.

He had one goal with the Selection, and he was pretty happy with that.

"Ey," the bartender pulled him out of his thoughts. "The girls over there send their greetings."

Ernest eyed the two girls sitting at the bar and waving at him in a flirty way. Neither of them was a ten out of ten, he thought, but definitely something to work with.

"Then send my greetings back with one," he nodded to his drink, "for each of them."

/ / /

 **The grand staircase of Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Prince Ernest of Illéa**

There was no particular reason why Ernest was walking downstairs in the late afternoon, except maybe a nasty hangover that only now was ending. He had checked the news (nothing about him or Louis, all about the Selection) and done all he planned to do.

" _Ernest_."

The older of the two brothers on the staircase briefly considered to just walk on, but ended up not doing so. He stopped and turned around to a very grumpy-looking Louis. He smelled like cigarettes again.

"Hello," he replied humoured.

" _How dare you_ —" Louis clenched his fists.

"Hey," Ernest interrupted him, "before you run to grandpa, I'm going to remind you that I remember that you looked quite pleased with yourself."

"I don't remember _a single thing_ ," Louis hissed with a flushed face and squint eyes.

Yeah, that was something he could have expected, Ernest thought. He probably should have taken more care. Oh well, whatever.

"I can guarantee you that you were pretty happy with the girls. What's her name again? I recognised her from somewhere…"

"Isadora Bonovich. I woke up in her apartment."

"Oh, yes! Isa! Such a sweet girl. Did you notice the—"

" _Ernest_!" Louis clenched his jaw.

Oh-oh. Ernest suppressed a sigh. Jonathan, their grandfather, was going to be particularly angry. Plus, their father was back and he wasn't a fan of Ernest's hobbies either… Good that they wouldn't have an excuse to banish him to the end of nowhere again, huh?

"No. One. Will. Ever. Hear. About. This. Understood?"

"What?" He wasn't going to run to Jonathan and complain?

"No. One. Will. Hear. About. This. Not Xander, not Sophia, not father, not grandfather—no one."

"… Sophy knows?"

"Well, then make sure she won't talk either!"

"… You're not planning to run to grandpa and complain?" Ernest was sceptic.

" _No_!" Louis shook his head. "You're stupid."

"Thanks?" Ernest tilted his head.

"I agreed—you didn't force me to come, and I am the responsible one!" Well, actually, that was Xander, but details.

"… Right." Ernest nodded slowly. "That's true… I mean, okay? I don't care?"

"Good, and—" Louis stopped talking.

He wasn't interrupted by anyone. It was just that both brothers heard a quiet sound from the floor above; the soft melody of a violin.

"Grandma is here?" Ernest asked surprised. "Wasn't she going to stay at Hill Castle for the preparations?"

"… Yes?" Louis, equally fazed, agreed.

"Then that's…."

"Vic."

Except that going by what the two brothers knew, Victoria hadn't touched a violin in five and a half years. Neither of them, Louis nor Ernest, were particularly talented musicians. Their grandmother had made all five of them learn an instrument when they had been younger, but both had given up on it by now. During the Unrest, there just had been other things.

"… Do you think she's getting better?" Ernest wondered. He hadn't seen Victoria for months, and hadn't spoken to her for years.

"… I don't know."

/ / /

 **I-TEC Biochemistry Laboratory, Anchorage, Whites  
Jaira Phillips**

Jaira yawned.

It had been quite a long day in the lab, but unfortunately, it hadn't been an interesting one. She was sitting at her desk, doing desk work and hoping that 5:30 would finally come and she could go home.

"Well," she muttered to herself, "I'll need to do it either way…"

The paperwork had been around for weeks, and everyone had avoided it. They were biochemists—researchers and scientists, not secretaries! But well, even I-TEC probably didn't want to spend so much money on Sixes to do paperwork.

Usually, Jaira was effective with work, but even she couldn't be bothered to do this. She rose from her desk chair to grab a folder from the shelf. The banner next to the shelf was from her co-worker's birthday party yesterday—they still hadn't cleaned up…

"You look like a monkey in a cage," someone commented from the back.

"I feel like one," Jaira replied to one of her co-workers. "We still need to clean up."

"The cleaning staff is going to hate us, yeah," said co-worker muttered.

"Oh, yes, they will," she agreed. "Although, I'm pretty sure that the IT guys hate me too. I broke my… dingle? Dongle? I'm not a computer scientist—don't ask me. I can't access the archive with my computer now."

"Do you want to use mine for the moment?"

Jaira shook her head. "I don't want to get into trouble; we aren't meant to do that," she reminded him. "Security and so on."

"Point," her co-worker nodded. "What are you doing?"

"Paperwork."

"I guessed. About what?"

"There was some issue with Project BWR, so they wanted someone to look through the documentation. Other than that, it's really just doing the work I have been procrastinating for the last two weeks."

"Related to the computer thing?"

"The BWR thing? Nah," Jaira shook her head. "I doubt that. Maybe something happened at the Dakota testing site? It's not like it'll ever be used now that the war is over, so why bother asking?"

"Fair point," her co-worker agreed.

Jaira grabbed the black folder from the shelf and returned to her desk. She nipped on her marshmallow apple bubble tea (which she definitly didn't favour over coffee, but her sister had dared her to drink it for a week…) and continue to work on the boring old paperwork.

Jaira lost track of the time; when she finally finished revising the paperwork and finishing everything from the last weeks, it was way past five thirty. It was the ringing of her phone that pulled her out of the files.

Her sister was calling.

"Jaira Phillips speaking," Jaira spoke into the phone.

"Hey Jaira," her sister replied, "when are you coming home? You will miss the report at this rate…"

"Oh…" Jaira looked to the time. Seven o'clock. Everyone else had left by now; taking the train back home would take more time; she wouldn't arrive back home on time. Maybe the _Report_ was going to be live on the train? It probably was.

Fortunately, the war was over and watching the _Report_ didn't mean the horror of hoping that there was no news of rebels in Whites. It probably was too cold for them either way, but that hadn't stopped Jaira from spending five years afraid for her life.

"Yeah, I won't make it back on time," she agreed. There was still work left though… "I still have work left. I don't really want to pick it up after the weekend…"

"That's too bad. I got new yarn and made you a new scarf today!"

"… Weren't you at work?"

"Yes, but I had a free period," her sister replied. "Besides that, I accidentally broke a tambourine at work and…" Jaira's sister began telling Jaira about her day at work, thus successfully distracting the older of the two sisters from doing any more work.

When the clock reached seven thirty, Jaira made the decisiondecided to wait for the weekend and go home already. She had to interrupt her sister (who was in the middle of a very descriptive description of her workday…) and told her that she'd text her once she reached the train station nearby home so she could be picked up by someone.

"Yeet!" her sister chirped. "See you then!"

Jaira made sure to close her office carefully—she didn't want to get into trouble for overlooking the security of I-TEC. A security breach at any branch of I-TEC would be sure to make headlines if discovered—better be careful, she always thought.

She took the late train home, meaning that she had to wait at the train station for twenty minutes. Fortunately, she had brought a book to read—which devoured her attention for the rest of the twenty minutes she had to stand in the cold of Whites.

She boarded the train while listening to music, but once the had showed the train conductor her monthly ticket, she took out her earphones to listen to the quietly broadcasted _Report_ on the train screens.

Jaira paid more attention to the post-war efforts than the footage of the royal family's work. Sure, she believed that they had to work a bit on their image, but none of the things particularly affected Whites or the big picture.

Except when the announcement for the Selection came up.

Jaira looked up, following the Crown Prince's explanation on the upcoming Selection. She remembered talking about how the Selection wasn't going to happen when Xander turned eighteen because of the civil war; it made sense to have it happen now.

Even if it didn't feel the way, the Great Unrest _was_ over…

"I will try my luck," Jaira decided quickly. She knew that her younger sister would absolutely try and sign up, but she wanted to try her luck too. Try to leave her mark on the country in a way that wasn't just working medicine and that kind of stuff.

Her sister's text, announcing that Jaira had to absolutely try and sign up arrived when the _Report_ ended, followed by the announcement that she would too. With an amused, caring smile, Jaira promised that they'd tackle the form together on the next day.

Even though the evening was primarily filled by gossiping, talking and spending time with her family, Jaira felt like she had run a marathon and went to bed early. Maybe it had been a good guess; her sister pulled her (literally) out of her bed in the early morning hours.

Apparently, post had arrived early, and despite having days to fill out the forms, they had to do it before the Province Services Office even opened…

"Ready?" Her sister was far too cheerful for five o'clock in the morning when the sun hadn't even risen yet.

"… May I first get up?" Jaira requested.

"Oh. Yeah. Sure. Just hurry."

Jaira took her time though, and only one hour later, after breakfast, she was finished and ready to work on the form with her sister. Entering their contact details was quick, but the final question made both of them sweat.

"I think I'm gonna start with introducing myself—like work and studies," Jaira decided. She went first—her sister had no idea. "I could briefly talk about high school, uni and now my job at I-TEC? Although—my job doesn't define me, so I think I'll go on about how I want to help the people, and talk about my strengths?"

"That sounds so much better than what I'm doing, and I want to be an English teacher," her sister laughed. "Maybe talk about how you like science but also literature? I mean, mum's an author and dad's a movie director, so you definitly had lots of art influence in your life."

"That's a great idea!" Jaira smiled. "I could talk about hobbies too."

"Yoga is boring though…"

"Everyone has their own taste," Jaira insisted. "I'll talk about reading through."

"Yeah… Hmm… I mean, you could also point out that you work a lot with medicine? Like, you helped during the Great Unrest. I'm sure that looks good."

"This isn't an essay to promote myself though," Jaira replied. "I mean… actually… Why do they ask this question?"

"Either because they do look at it, or to judge people beforehand? I mean, to give the prince a brief overview of everyone?"

"That'd be a possibility, but the question is far too vague."

"Maybe it's vague to allow people to express themselves in any form? Maybe I could do poetry! Oh, yeah, I'll do that. If they look at the forms to select the girls, it'll definitly look good! Like, I'm special because I don't do what everyone else does?"

"Yeah…" Jaira trailed off. "Maybe not. I don't think that'd be helpful to get in though."

"Nah, I want to try," her sister insisted.

"Hmm…" Jaira wasn't so sure herself. In the end, her sister went ahead and wrote a poem and a brief self-introduction while Jaira kept on her original plan to talk about what she cared about. Although she wasn't absolutely honest (there were only a few people she'd ever put first after all), both sisters were ultimately happy with the outcome.

/ / /

 **CCPD 17** **th** **Prescient, Calgary City, Calgary  
Andreia Jensen**

Detective Jensen, calledAndreia by close friends, knew someone was watching her. Various things pointed to that—the sudden change in lighting, the slight change in soundscape and the knowledge that a certain co-worker did that round about every single day.

"… May I help you?" the detective asked calmly.

"We need to talk, Jensen," her co-worker—a theoretically good friend if it wasn't for the constant blind dates she organised—hummed.

"About what?" Andreia questioned—a bit too much like she'd question a suspect or witness.

Andreia was at work, and as much as she enjoyed the company of her co-workers and team mates, she did not enjoy being distracted from work. They weren't being payed to chat—their employment contact gave them clear rules.

"If it's not the case we just finished," she nodded towards the files on her desk, "then it can wait until after work."

"Oh, great!" Her co-worker smiled happily. "There's someone I need to introduce to you by the way."

"… Don't you always…" Andreia muttered. "We can discuss that after work."

"But…" Her co-worker groaned, knowing very well that Andreia was going to be stoic and stubborn until they finished work for the evening. "Alright, I'll see you later."

At least this one knew when to give in. Some seemed to believe that even though Andreia's whole family consisted of proven military officials and two cops, and growing up among a strict, ruled-by-the-rules structure, she was going to just go ahead and break the stability that assured everyone to have a secure, safe life. _Stupid_ , Andreia thought, and returned back to work. She wasn't going to waste time procrastinating—she didn't even know good words to describe the ridiculousness of such behaviour.

However, since Andreia didn't want to cause problems for the cleaners, she finished work punctually and joined her colleagues on the way to the closest bar. They had finished a case, and that was an occasion to celebrate, just like they always did.

Unlike a few of her colleagues, she didn't drink anything alcoholic—she had a car that needed to be driven home after all—but observed the on-going duel between two co-workers to create a tower of bottle caps.

"So," the co-worker of before returned, "I invited a friend of a friend to come over. He's a detective at the fifth precinct, oh, and his name is also Jensen! He's pretty fun, out-going and all—he'd be a good addition in your life. He's really good at his job too."

"… Are you sure it's not my brother?"

"You have a brother?"

"Yup," Andreia looked up, and recognised the other Detective Jansen walking into the bar with what she presumed to be co-workers. She waved to him. "Hey, brother!"

He grimaced back. "Hey, sister!" he replied and dropped onto the bench next to her. "How was work?"

"I got two more for my count. That puts me ahead, doesn't it?" Andreia announced proud.

"Only by one arrest though!" her brother insisted. "I'll catch up with you anytime soon."

"… What?" her confused co-worker asked. She furrowed her brows and was watching the twins, genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?"

Her brother was the first to respond. "We've got a bet on who'll make more arrests this year. _Apparently_ , Andreia just got another two for her count, but I'm definitly going to win."

"We will see," Andreia insisted. "Besides, yes," she confirmed to her co-worker, "this is my little brother."

" _We are twins_."

"I'm older by twelve minutes," Andreia reminded him—void of any teasing or sarcasm; she was being serious. "You know that."

"But…" Her brother groaned complaining. "Seriously?"

"Yes, of course."

"… whatever, yeah."

Her brother excused himself (or rather, just got up) to say hi to some old friends, leaving Andreia alone with the co-worker who evidently once again was planning to pair her up with somebody. Not that this was the first time (the whole prescient seemed to be more involved into her dating life than she was…) that this happened; Andreia was used to it.

"Are you at least signing up for the Selection?" her co-worker asked. She leaned forward onto her arms, closer to Andreia.

"Of course," Andreia replied to her friend's surprise. "It's an honour to be able to apply, and of course, I considered it. I would love to serve the country in any—"

A yawn came from her friend.

"Yes, I am currently working on my application. I intend to hand it to the Provinces Service Office tomorrow."

"The application has been open since last Friday… It's been a week! How have you not done it yet?"

"I intend for mine to be adequate and well-written."

"… It's a lottery, duh."

Andreia didn't believe that. She had heard the rumour too, but she couldn't say that out. That would almost be like standing up to a superior, even if it wasn't right for the royal family to lie to the citizens. Andreia saw some possible points why they did that, but she wasn't even going to question the authority.

That was a natural no-go she didn't even think of.

"If you get in, how do you intend to seduce the prince?" her co-worker asked curious. "Sorry, but you're terrible with guys. Do you know what a nightmare it is to organise a date for you?"

Andreia never asked for it, but since her co-workers seemed to like it, she wasn't going to stop them. On the question whenever she had a strategy on 'how to seduce the prince', well… She was working on it? She had a month between now and the announcement of the Selected, and even if, she was realist enough to know her chances.

She still hoped, but details.

"I have done some research."

"… Research?" her co-worker busted into laughter. "Like, did you google 'How to flirt'?"

It was only thanks to Andreia's strong self-composure that she didn't turn into a tomato.

"Not exactly," she pressed out. "Besides that, I do not know His Royal Highness—how would I be able to 'plan' to seduce him?"

"Oh, don't worry, all guys are the same. They want—"

"I'm fairly sure you are about to get into the territory of lèse-majesté. You are in a bar filled with cops," Andreia warned. "I'm serious. Don't offend the royal family."

"Copy that, right. But you get the deal."

"I do understand what you mean, but I will be fine," Andreia insisted. "Besides, my chance of being chosen for the Selection isn't very high."

"So, you don't think about how awesome the moment could be when you sit in front of the television at home, and they reach Calgary? When they read out your name and you learn that you are coming to Angeles?"

"I have been to Angeles."

"Yes, but the Illéa Palace looks _fancy_."

"I am not participating in the Selection to reside in a fancy palace—it's a duty to—"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it. No need to rant and waste time. Admit it. You dreamed of it."

She had—absolutely—but only when she had been lying in bed, about to go to sleep. She had enough work piled up that she needed to do when she was at the station or on call; she wasn't going to get distracted with fantasies of being selected or anything else. She had work to do.

"I did," Andreia admitted.

"There we go. How are you planning to seduce him?"

"I have thought about being chosen for the Selection, not seducing the Crown Prince. There's a difference."

"Yes but—" One more time, her co-worker sighed. "Whatever. Are you our token sober person who is driving us home?"

"Yes," Andreia replied nodding.

"Great," her co-worker yawned. "Can you drop me home? I doubt that after this evening I should drive."

Andreia nodded. "I will," she assured her. She probably was going to drive more than one person home, but she was capable of being responsible. She was a police officer, if she wanted or not, and it was her duty to keep the streets of her hometown safe.

"Thank you," her co-worker hummed, and walked off to join the others and their tower game.

For a brief moment, Andreia looked down at her father's air force ring. Keeping Calgary safe was her duty as police officer, but there was still her dream of working in the air force. Of flying in general, and doing the same thing her father had done. Following the family tradition, now that she could do.

But then again, there were her obligations and duties. She had her bet with her brothers, a team and a promising career, and she couldn't let them down that easily. It'd be wrong. They depended on her just like she depended on them.

Andreia rose to join them, deciding to think about _this_ particular topic another day when she had a clearer mind.

/ / /

 **Haverford Farm, Hayriver, St. George  
Tessa Evans**

In the end of February, the sun was slowly setting above the horizon when Tessa was still riding over the grass field of the Haverford Farm. She stopped the last of the horses she was taking care of today, to take a break and watch the distant sunset.

She had been riding the horses of the farm the whole day, but still enjoyed it, even though she was growing more and more tired. This, now was really just her enjoying her off-the-paper job, riding the racehorses of the farm every day, now that she was done with the duty part of it.

The whole last weeks had been stressful.

Way too stressful, in Tessa's opinion, actually. Her mother's job had a few troubles, and some distant friends wanted Tessa to get a job—as of now, she was officially unemployed. Considering the rustic life style, she and her family were leading, it probably was understandable.

Tessa's job right now was at the borders of the boundaries of her caste, and probably would be classified as a Seven's job. She never dared to look into how exactly the job was classified, maybe out of fear to discover that she was breaking the law but hey, the owner of the farm didn't have any family—she hoped to be able to become its next owner without needing to buy it.

That probably was the only reason why her mother allowed her to do this rather than starting to work on a real job…

"Alright," she muttered and gave the red-brown horse she was currently riding a friendly hint to go on. "Time to get back home."

After riding and training the race horses for the whole day, she had taken two for a longer ride into the fields. The horse she was riding right now was certainly among her favourites (although Tessa tried not to have favourites), and she was glad to be able to spend the evening with it. Tessa leaned back on the horse to enjoy the few final rays of the sun. She grimaced.

"I didn't bring a jacket…" she groaned. "Oh, of course I didn't… I'm going to freeze on the way home…" she complained.

She did come to shiver a bit at the cold evening breeze when she returned the horse she had been riding back to the stalls. She made sure that the horse had its water, food and wasn't dirty before returning all things to where they belonged, and locking the stall.

Tessa was proud to know that she had her own key. Not even some of the professional riders who used the farm had their own key.

Since it was evening and the farm was already empty, Tessa immediately made her way home. While humming a song that Mr. Haverford had been humming before, she skipped back home. Even though she had been doing a Seven's work the whole day, now that she knew that her bed and dinner was waiting for her, she was glad to return home.

"I'm home, mum!" she called into the small rusty building that she lived in with her mother. "Is dinner ready or do you want me to do something?"

Her mother's sweet but worn-out face appeared in the doorframe very soon afterwards. "Don't worry, I'm doing dinner right now."

Whenever she was or not, Tessa didn't know. Her mother sometimes tended to overly baby her—she rarely even got to cook herself, something that Tessa didn't realise to be strange until she reached high school.

"You do have a guest though; he's waiting in the living room."

"Do I? Who?"

Immediately, Tessa's mind went to one person—someone who she didn't even know. She had gotten used to being a child of divorced parents pretty early, but there was always the hope that he might return and pay a little more than the ninety dollars that, going by Tessa's mum, weren't even enough. Or what he could pay. Whatever.

"Yes," her mother nodded, "and Tessa, honey, please do say yes. It's a great opportunity and… yeah."

Confused, Tessa tiled her head. "What do you mean?"

"Just… you'll see, honey," her mother replied worried and pushed her towards the door of the old living room.

Still not knowing what exactly her mother wanted from her, Tessa entered the small living room and noticed a person she'd never seen. It wasn't her father after all… Too bad. The stranger did, at least, look pretty decent.

"Good evening, Miss Evans," the stranger immediately rose.

"… Hi?" Tessa cringed. "Uh… uhm…" she turned around, to look for her mother who had disappeared from her field of view. She probably was in the kitchen, going by the sounds. "How… can I help you?"

"I work for the palace and the royal family," the stranger replied.

What? Wait, what? Sure—Tessa had signed up for the Selection onto the suggestion of her mother, but what? Weren't the Selected meant to be announced in a month or so? Was the month already over? It wasn't even Friday—had she missed such an important thing on the _Report_?

"Please, have a seat, ma'am."

"Uh… I like standing…"

She didn't, but standing was so much less awkward than sitting was. The palace messenger-dude nodded accepting, but didn't sit down himself. Oh no. This was going to be awkward after all, huh?

"Your application for the Selection has gained the attention of the committee in charge."

"… has it, huh?" Tessa bit on her lip. _Please, please, please don't say there's an issue with my job—I never said I get paid for it…_ She had been sceptic about signing up for the Selection when her mother suggested it—yes, it sounded like the opportunity of a lifetime, but competing with thirty-four other girls for the prince's heart? She doubted that she could do that…

"Yes. I am here to inform you that you have been offered a spot in a training programme for ladies-in-waiting towards the future queen," the messenger began, and proceeded to explain the whole idea.

It was probably this training that her mother wanted her to say Yes to. The fact that even though the girls weren't guaranteed a position, they were given the choice and chance while being paid sounded incredible wooing. They could use the money.

"Unless there is an incident of any sort, every participant in the training will be upgraded to caste Three, if they weren't above that before."

"… Really?" Tessa—who had sit down by now—asked. "Three? Like, doctors and all?"

"Yes, indeed."

Tessa looked down and grinned. If it wasn't for the fact that she hadn't even asked for the messenger's name, she would probably fall into his arms. Three—that'd mean that she could study and pursue a career as a vet, or something into that direction! Besides inheriting the farm, that was her dream! Tessa couldn't help a bit to smile brightly.

"Are you interested?"

"Yes, absolutely! Where can I sign up?"

The messenger had brought the related paperwork with him, and it took them the evening to fill everything out in detail. Despite the poor Sixes' protests, Tessa went on to immediately sign the papers, without even bothering to read them. The messenger accepted it, but left her a copy in case she changed her mind on that.

"Someone—probably me—will come and pick you up tomorrow at noon. You'll need to take two flights to Los Angeles, I'm afraid, but you have tickets for the business class—which will be given to you tomorrow—and as I have experienced, it's not very stressful once you are past the security control."

"I've never even left this town!" Tessa laughed. "What do you mean with security control?"

The poor palace messenger was, as result, forced to explain what a security control at the airport was, but Tessa fortunately quickly added her own knowledge to what was going on.

"Would you like to join us for dinner?" her mother, who had come and listened, offered.

"I don't mean to cause a problem, Miss Evans," the messenger began, but her mother cut him off.

"Please, this isn't a problem. I cooked too much either way." Maybe on purpose or not, but Tessa didn't mind.

For the rest of dinner, she took all her time to grill the poor messenger on his background and life in Los Angeles. He grew a bit too quiet when it came to the training for her taste, but she came to the conclusion that he probably didn't know much himself and really was just the person employed to get her to Los Angeles.

It was much later than her usual bedtime when the messenger left, but considering what she had to pack for, Tessa was going to stay awake for quite a while more.

"I'll need to tell Mr. Harverford about this tomorrow morning—oh, and I need to say good bye to the horses, okay?" she asked her mother when they finished packing her old school bag and a few more bags with clothes and other necessities.

"I'll take care of any packing," her mother assured. She looked really relieved. Had she read through the papers? Probably—her mother was much better with that. "It'll be fine, honey," she assured her.

Yeah, it was. Because Tessa was given a chance to follow her dream, spend some time in a big city in between and hey! Who knew? Maybe they had horses in Los Angeles as well?

/ / /

 **Streets of Fathom, Fennley  
Sawyer Roth**

"Fight me," Sawyer Roth insisted.

To be honest, this moment wasn't the first time to happen. Fennley wasn't in a good state after months of rebel occupation, and Sawyer had developed the 'slightly annoying' (it really wasn't annoying, she insisted) habit of fighting anyone in her way. To be fair, her classmates were bullying some little newbie kid who had gotten lost.

One hour later, her father was walking out of the principal's office, visibly annoyed and followed by Sawyer who now had gained one or two new bruises. But hey! The kid was gonna be happy now, hopefully.

"You can't do that," her father insisted.

"I prove the impossible wrong, then."

"Honey," her father sighed, "you'll end up at the hospital again. I don't want that to happen to you."

"I'm not going to let people get bullied by some random Threes who think they have the right to do that, even when they literally ran off when the city fell! That's ridiculous!"

"You didn't even know that kid!"

"I do! I showed him the way to science," Sawyer shot back. She crossed her arms and stopped in the middle of the hallway. It was empty—class had ended ten minutes ago and usually, Sawyer would have been out by now, too. Too bad that the principal had enough of bruised students.

"That does not count as knowing someone, and never ever as a reason to physically attack someone!"

It felt like the five thousandth time for them to have this conversation. If it wasn't for the whole situation with so many students missing a year thanks to the city being occupied, Sawyer probably would have been thrown from the school by now. She knew that but… gotta protect the kids, right?

Also, there was no way she was going to back away from that threat.

"Let's just head home," her father decided, shaking his head. "I love you, but sometimes you just…" he trailed off.

The afternoon after school on Friday was, to be honest, boring. To meet the ends and particularly support her brother who was among the victims of the rebel occupation being paralysed, she worked at the restaurant where her father worked as well, as a waitress.

Sawyer probably also met the borders of her caste with that, but yeah, money. Besides, the authorities in her hometown really had other problems than a Four doing a Six's job. They were cleaning the city of last rebel supporters, and Sawyer had nothing against that.

"Maybe I should try and join the police?" she wondered while packing some of the leftovers to take them for dinner in the evening. "Nah, I'd probably get thrown out for picking up fights." Sawyer shrugged. "At least I'm honest? Whatever." She picked up her dinner, and headed to the backdoor.

"What do you have as homework?" her father, thus stopping her in the doorway, asked caring.

"Sociology and history," Sawyer replied. "Essays that are due on Monday."

"Are you going to be home for the _Report_?"

" _I_ am the one heading back, dad," Sawyer reminded him, "you're the one working late."

Her dad laughed, more worried than amused. "We both know you're heading out again."

Sawyer shrugged, and waved, before heading out. He probably was right, to be honest. Well, he was right—she was planning on sneaking out in the late evening, but she was going to do that after the _Report_. She wasn't stupid enough to miss it. Too much important details and all.

And so, she arrived home, in time for dinner and all. She ate with her younger brother, the one paralysed during the occupation before both (low-key bitter about it) began with their respective work. Her brother was much better in school than Sawyer was, which was why he probably was writing more of her sociology essay than she was.

"So…" she paused to read through the intro paragraph. "This is about how on paper, the caste Eight doesn't exist, but it's become a thing in people's mind? Especially now for people crippled or disabled in the Unrest?"

Win nodded. "Exactly. You can put me as an example," he added bitterly. "Eights are untouchable. No one wants to employ an Eight, especially not in the lower castes. You can't do much work in a wheel chair."

"What would you do if you were a Seven…?" Sawyer questioned. "There's nothing you can do!"

Win nodded. "Yeah. I heard the rebels using that as a big point."

"But…" Sawyer threw herself back into the kitchen chair. "Gah! That's so stupid! Even if you overthrow the government, that won't change people's mind! I bet that even removing the caste system wouldn't!"

"Please," the voice of her mother filled the room with a hint of disdain, "don't speak like that, Sawyer. One of my co-workers today was arrested for suspicion of supporting rebel activities; you've gotten into too much trouble already without that happening."

"Last time I checked I have an excellent track record of not being a rebel," Sawyer muttered.

"And, please don't sneak out past curfew again."

Sawyer bit on her lip. She totally was going to, let alone because she promised to take this night as DJ. She wasn't going to back away from that promise but her mum… oh well, she probably had a point. Plus, curfew wasn't anymore a law—that was just her mother insisting on it!

"Hmhm."

"How are you doing with homework?" her mother asked. "Win, please make sure that Sawyer does her own homework."

"Hmhm." At least Win was on the same page as she was.

Their mother passed by, and Sawyer couldn't care less about what she said before. Sure, she loved her mother, but she needed good grades if she wanted to get out of Fennley.

"… So," Win started, "history?"

"Hmhm," she nodded. "It's a comparison between the American Civil War in forever-ago and the Unrest."

"Well, that's quite different," Win admitted. "In one, the Crown won, and in another, the Crown lost."

"I know, so it should be easy. Besides, the Great Unrest lasted five, or six, years and was, like, a few months ago. It'll be easy. We were able to choose what we wanted to do, and I was considering the foundation of Illéa and so on, since you literally have the descendants of Gregory Illéa sitting on the throne," she added.

"Sounds cool." Win paused. "Hey, before we do this though… I saw college brochures in your room."

"… Why were you in my room?"

"The colleges were round about from anywhere but Fennley."

"Yup, last time I checked, Los Angeles or Calgary City were in Angeles and Calgary respectively."

"You are planning to move away," Win concluded.

"No, I'm planning to stay at exactly this spot for the rest of my life. Change my mind."

"Why?" Win demanded to know. "Why do you plan to leave?" he added bitter.

"… Because this town is damn small and I've had enough of it?" Sawyer paused and sighed. "Like, I get that I need a job or so to get out of Fathom, and that I'm probably not gonna get into many universities if I'm not going to become mum 2.0 and become a stockbroker, but I want to try."

"But why?" he laughed out cold. "You have everything you could want! Your legs aren't paralysed. You don't need a wheelchair. You're super popular at school with anyone except the people you don't want to be friends with because you stand up for stuff. You have two part time jobs and a future. I don't have that!"

"Uh—"

"Like, seriously…" He stopped. "Gah. I give up."

"Gah?"

"I… I want to leave too, but I can't and that's freaking annoying."

"Mood," Sawyer agreed. "I mean, you could try and go into economics? You got good grades, so you might even get a scholarship. You shouldn't have too many problems with wheel chairs…" Sawyer paused. "Let me think, I—"

"Yeah, I know, you'll come up with a plan because you're everyone's mum friend."

"I'm—Okay, I am." Sawyer paused. "After the Unrest and all… I'm just feeling trapped here. Like, every single place is a place where I could see rebels hanging out. Anyone walking around can still be a rebel. It's scary, and I know that it stresses mum and dad too. I just really need a break."

"We both are the study-economics-work-on-the-stock market type though."

"Yeah, we aren't… But what else could I do? Take over dad's job at the restaurant? Become a cook? If I get any more serious with DJ-ing, I'll get into trouble for not being a Five and people will start to complain."

"Medicine?" Their brother was working as nurse in the army, and both of them couldn't help but admire him. "Something like that?"

"Most of that is Three area. I don't have much of a shot, unless I win in the lotto and buy myself up. I don't think I have the brains for medicine though. Like… I don't know. I could do the same as him and go into the army, but we both know that that ain't gonna work out."

"Sounds fun."

"Yeah, absolutely."

Silence. Sawyer glanced down onto the paper that was in front of her. "Do you think anything interesting's going to be on the Report?"

"Nah," Win replied. "I doubt it."

Little did they know.

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **And here goes the reason why I have so many stages on Ernest's section haha. Also, brief cameo for a character from The Red Herring, Isadora Bonovich, because Moon wanted it.**

 **On another hand—it'd be really, really cool if you could send me your characters' opinions on the Report; i.e. the withdrawal of armed troops from the central provinces (such as i.e. Dakota) and sending home soldiers, and how that influences their opinions. It's optional though; I get that everyone has busy schedules. It's not like I'm writing chapter 13 now. xD**

 **Now, ihatekieracassesworldbuildingsomuchhelpme, Eight isn't a caste per se, like, in the law there is no caste Eight in Fallout, but de facto, it exists in everyone's mind. I.e. Rie is, on paper, a Seven, but no one'd employ her since society considers her as Eight / untouchable. I'll try and remember to touch this later on.**

 **Also, sorry Octavia for using Sawyer as exposition dump… ^ ^'**

 **Next Chapter:** »If I could, I would go back«


	9. Chapter 8

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Ernest talked Louis into going to a bar together. Both got drunk, and on Louis' side, things got out of hands. The Report was broadcasted, including the Selection announcement, and the two brothers swore to never talk about what happened on that Friday night. The chapter was set a week and a half ago. The Selected's POVs are not set parallel._

 **Chapter 08**

»Don't you want to be an old cat library with a library? «

 **The Old Library of Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Prince Louis of Illéa**

The fire was quietly crackling, the sun was setting and the golden light that filled the old library was slowly but steadily leaving the room.

Of course, the fire wasn't necessary. It was warm enough, and there were heaters, but just like cigarettes, the fire calmed Louis. It probably was the healthier method, and the one that wouldn't end in a monologue by one of his family members on health and cancer.

Sometimes, a voice in Louis' head wanted to shout back that there were so many people who wouldn't mind that, but every single time, he silenced it. Louis turned a page, but now that he thought of that again, his attention left the old pages. He smiled a bit. Yes, he wasn't going to give in and make the truth die with him.

People might not like the ugly truth, but he had learned to face it long before his siblings did—even if that had been a childish accident. Looking back, that night that gave him night terrors probably had been the best and worst thing to happen at the same time. Even if the memory was slightly triggering.

Louis placed the old book—one called 'Pride and Prejudice' written by a Jane Austin from the times before humanity faced destruction a third time—aside and smiled at the old, large library. It was one large treasure, wasn't it? All what was written in these beautiful, magnificent books had survived hundreds of years.

If there was one thing Louis would always be indefinitely and genuinely grateful for, then it was that books existed.

By now, Louis had recovered from the traumatising memory (or rather lack of) that had happened, partwise because neither Ernest nor him had ever touched it again. Hopefully Ernest would want to dodge trouble by not telling anyone. Unlike him, Louis did not break the law. It had been one case of underage drinking and probably more, but that had been under pressure and…

Who was he lying to? Ernest was too good with talking people into things.

Louis placed the book next to a few blue roses—most certainly a master product of science—and excited the library a mere second before the old hall clock would announce that it was six o'clock.

He was late, and he didn't like that, but never, Louis would show that to anyone. Instead, he paced his walk calm and steady, as if he was early to arrive at his destination, the room most commonly used for the King's counsel. Twice, he knocked before he could hear Xander's voice asking him to come in.

"Awesome," Ernest commented, "we're all here."

All evidently did not include 'all'. Three people in their family were missing—their mother, their father and youngest sister—but Ernest didn't seem to expect them. Louis suppressed a comment of such regards.

"Apologies for my lateness," he spoke instead, and took a seat next to Sophia. Unlike his older brothers, her choice of clothing—a blue floor-length dress—was appropriate for their status. As usual, neither Xander nor Ernest opted out for the work wardrobe that Louis chose regularly. Army habits, Louis presumed in Xander's case. Laziness, he thought for Ernest.

"No worries," Sophia replied with a sweet smile that she had learned from her mother ages ago. She was growing to look more and more similar to her, in posture and expression, but not in values.

"We have made decisions for some provinces, and final selections down to ten as maximum for others," Xander added.

"Which provinces have been decided to be final?" Louis inquired. "Or all of them? What do you mean?"

"There are only three provinces where we don't have a definitive front runner," Xander replied.

"Here I go," Sophia hummed and pulled the first staple of thin paper folders to herself. "I'll introduce them. The first one of the final Selected is Waverly's representative," she replied. "Lady Veira Schreave."

She handed Louis the folder—followed by rising and getting what Louis presumed to be a copy for the others—and he opened it careful. He remembered Veira; such a beautiful young lady when they had last met during the Christmas ball. A One, he noted, and descendant of Brenton Schreave. She would do well among them, and be a role model for the other Selected. For sure, she wouldn't be in for the money either; Veira was a fashion icon that regularly spent lots of money. Louis traced the photo that was attached to the file. Definitely, such a lady should only wear the best of the best clothes.

"A socialite and good friend of mine," Sophia introduced her. "I think we all know her, so an introduction isn't exactly necessary. She knows protocol and etiquette, probably has most Instagram followers out of all Selected and the ward of the governor of Waverly; she's his niece. Her parents passed away in the first year of the Unrest."

"You stayed near the Schreaves when you lived in Waverly, didn't you?" Ernest remembered. Yes, unlike Ernest and Louis who had been forced to stay among the commoners, Sophia had lived among the safe and wealthy elite of Waverly.

"Indeed," Sophia nodded.

"Phineas—that's the governor of Waverly—politely asked when I introduced the plan to them, and if we compare her to the other applicants of Waverly, she stands out most." He paused. "Her father was with Vic when it happened."

And all of them knew what that meant. All of them knew when it was that Veira's father passed away.

"I don't see an issue with her," Ernest pointed out. Louis nodded in agreement.

Veira's file was closed and placed onto the bottom of what would be a new pile that included all final choices of the royals. The next folder, Sophia handed him, was marked with Likely. They hadn't sorted them, huh?

"Leila Sinclair, Two, from Likely," Sophia introduced the next girl. Going by the attached photo, she was also a blonde. Had there even been a photo part for the application? Didn't Sophia insist to leave that out? This probably was something that had been attached later on, by the government, he concluded. If they wanted a photo, they at least should give each of the applicants the choice to do on their own, rather than going onto it at random…

"On her mother's side, she is a Vanderbilt," Sophia introduced her. She was a descendant of yet another founding father of Illéa? Unlike Veira, they weren't distant blood relatives though, Louis noted. "Her father comes from a family with a strong military legacy. She currently works as firefighter, and has done a bit of child modelling, although she stopped to focus onto her studies."

Louis nodded. Leila Sinclair sounded like a decent woman, similar to Veira. He wasn't too fond of the modelling—Louis was absolutely on the side that believed that actors, singers and models that used their fame to become Twos weren't real Twos—but he was glad to hear that Leila had changed her mind about that.

"Unlike Veira, she actually applied through normal ways," Sophia joked. "Her form is attached, but the short summary of her essay is that she cares a lot about making a difference and helping people, which is why she became a firefighter. She has mentioned her belief that people with privilege have a large responsibility."

"With great power comes great responsibility," Louis quoted from one of his favourite comics.

Sophia nodded. "Yeah, kind of like that. She seems to be a bit of an idealist. I haven't seen her in forever though; she hasn't been around society in a while. I believe it's because she prefers her work over it which I, uh," she hesitated, "probably don't support as much, but Xander thinks that she's Likely's best candidate, including yesterday's final batch."

The Crown Prince nodded. "Exactly."

Unlike Sophia, Louis could understand Leila's apparent lack of interest in society very well; he sympathised with her. If he could, he would take many jobs over living as a prince…

They gave the girl from Likely their consent; everyone agreed that Leila Sinclair was the second Selected following Veira Schreave. They anonymously decided onto Yukon's Selected who was yet another case of a girl of good family and background, and went on to Sonage.

"Our current candidate here is Harriet Tailor," Xander introduced the brunette. Finally, a change of hair colour came, Louis noted. "Hotel heiress to the Tailor Hotel chain, a Four. Unlike the previous Three, she actually has shown excellent school results, particularly in maths, and while I expect her to be behind Leila Sinclair and Veira Schreave, I expect that she knows business etiquette."

"She's definitely an upper-class woman," Sophia added. "I know her. A little bit too much looking down at poor people, but she makes it up with her resumé. Speaking of that," Sophia chuckled, "she is one of the girls who wrote a job application."

Ernest laughed, and Louis couldn't help a chuckle as well. One couldn't write a job application to become a queen, he thought, but evidently, neither of his siblings cared too much about that aspect.

"The only thing I am a little bit worried is her family situation; her parents are divorced and her step-mother is a born Six; from what I've heard she's a gold digger," Sophia remarked with a sigh. "I know I shouldn't judge but… I'm not sure if I want to relate to people who only come for the money…"

Louis sighed. " _It took you long enough to realise that that's a thing_ ," he thought.

"Seriously?" Ernest replied loudly, with visible disdain. "Sophy, people said the same about grandmother when she participated in the Selection."

Louis almost expected Sophia's ashamed eyes to dart to him, but while he did agree with her opinion, he wasn't going to defend her. It wasn't gold digging that was the reason for his infamous dislike for the lower castes.

"Louis?" Sophia eventually whispered sheepishly. "I'm sure you can explain this…?"

"You know," Louis began, "the reason why _I_ dislike the lower castes so much is not related to that."

"What do you mean?" Ernest asked, rising an eyebrow. He probably thought that Louis looked down on them simply because of numbers.

"They're pretentious. Pretentious, complaining and selfish," he clenched his fist under the table. "They don't understand the luxury they have."

" _Luxury_?" Ernest repeated indignant. " _Are you kidding me_?"

"I have been there, Ernest," Louis reminded him. "Unlike you, I didn't live with a wealthy and acclaimed Three who happened to be among mother's closest friends. I lived with Sevens. Sevens who didn't even know _who_ I was. I _was_ a Seven for two years," Louis hissed. "I worked from dawn to dusk on a farm among scat and stinking animals. Every single day of the week, for three years, because you messed up, if I may remind you."

"Then you should know their situation!" Ernest insisted.

"Oh, I do," Louis laughed out, "and I would take it back any time, if I could."

That comment silenced his older brother, leaving him stunned. Sophia had withdrawn into her seat as well, looking aside from the argument. As usual, Xander stayed quiet during the whole conversation. As usual, his opinion probably flipped between both sides as often as the speaking person changed.

"I would take living on a stinking farm over having to watch _every single word_ I speak, and yet finding myself hated by every single person in the country, for speaking what I believe in."

Ernest looked down. Did he remember their conversation from Friday two weeks ago? Louis had come to realise what his 'role' was. He spoke the truth—even if people didn't like it. He wasn't an idealist and optimist like Sophia. He didn't try and change society like Ernest. He looked beyond the horizon, unlike Xander. Louis' heart raced.

"I would take the hard work and exhaustion over staying awake a whole night worrying about things I said a year ago. I'd take the disdain of higher castes if it meant that being honest wasn't a crime against society. I'd take the hunger over being hated for having money. I'd take the dreams that never come true over having no dreams at all. I wish I could say "I don't want this anymore," but I can't. I can't just become a Seven, because I'll always be Louis Illéa, the son of a king, no matter who wins a war." Louis paused. His heart stopped racing. It felt good to tell Ernest, who always complained about his attitude, the truth. "I was a Seven for two years, Ernest. If I could, I would go back."

Xander ended the discussion in the least decisive way possible. "This isn't a discussion about the caste system," he reminded them. "This is about the Selected, and all of them will be Threes, if they want it or not. We will see if Harriet Tailor's stepmother is an issue or not, and deal with her accordingly. Are there any objections left, unrelated to said relative?"

There weren't. Harriet Tailor joined the growing pile of Selected.

The next Selected came from Midston, as Louis read on the file. Gabriella Jespersen, a Seaman during her apparent time in the Illéan military. Louis concluded this from the name written on the full file and the attached image.

"Isn't that a military honour?" he asked, particularly directing the question to Xander.

Xander nodded. "A purple heart."

Gabriella—or Rie, what she seemed to prefer going by the file—had an excellent school record—in academics and athletics—and was born a Seven. She enlisted to the coast guard around the same time as Xander, he noted—but was dismissed soon after her training (which, going by the military file that was attached as well, she completed with flying colours).

Louis figured out why very soon. Gabriella Jespersen had stepped onto a landmine and lost both legs during the explosion. Now, she was an unemployed Eight living with her parents in Midston, her home province.

"I see why you like her," Louis immediately pointed out. "I assume this one was your decision, Xander?"

The Crown Prince nodded. "Yes. She has an excellent track record, and I will not let an injury sustained while serving my country be an obstacle in any way."

"Agreed," Louis nodded. "Unless she has trouble with the lessons, she sounds like an excellent candidate to me."

Tables turned, because Ernest shook his head. Now he was against the lower castes, and Louis was promoting one of them. "Xander, look at the realistic things. If she needs a wheelchair because she doesn't have legs, then she will cause more problems than help in any way. How in the world do you think that'll work? This isn't a job interview—you're looking for a wife. Sorry, but that entails some more… physical things as well, in case you didn't know."

Evident by Xander's immediate dismissal of Ernest's opinion, that didn't matter. "Her medical record claims that no organs were damaged, and I don't see any further problems. Like everyone else, she'll go through a medical examination during the next month. If an issue appears there, we'll hear about it."

Gabriella Jespersen was placed onto the pile without any further ado.

"I support the decision as well," Sophia added joking. "Even though it appears that none of you care about my opinion."

She gained three annoyed glares by her brothers, and sighed in response. She placed another file in front of everyone, this time from Calgary. "Andreia Jensen. A police detective from Calgary, hailing from a military family as well. She wanted to join the Air Force," she explained, "but as we all know, they weren't the best example of functional during the Unrest."

"They were hacked and wiped from the face of the Earth," Ernest muttered under his breath.

"Exactly," Louis nodded. "Give us more?"

Unlike Gabriella Jespersen and Harriet Tailor, Andreia Jensen was another blonde. Her employee file described her as efficient, rule-obeying and role model detective, and her parents were both notable members of the army and air force. Another case of wanting to do more for the country, Louis noted.

Nobody had anything to oppose her; Louis could understand Sophia's and Xander's tendency towards the current Selected. Ladies of good family origin or ladies that served the country, knowing how to live among the elite and passion for the country—qualities that a queen needed.

As much as he hated to admit it, his mother probably lacked one of them. Since nobody of them had anything to oppose Andreia Jensen, she wandered onto the pile of official Selected. Yukon, Calgary, Likely, Midston, Sonage, Waverly. Andreia Jensen, Leila Sinclair, Harriet Tailor, Veira Schreave, Gabriella Jespersen—or was it Rie?

"Besides the fact that we need name tags," Louis pointed out, "Jespersen's preferred name appears to be Rie. Protocol would make her Lady Gabriella Jespersen. As what do we refer to the ladies if they have a different preferred name? Lady Gabriella or Lady Rie, in this case?"

"I would say," Sophia spoke up, "in any official case, it's definitely Lady Gabriella—the full first name. Mother was often called Lys, but she has never been referred as anything else but Lady Lysandre Wilde, Crown Princess Lysandre of Illéa and Queen Lysandre of Illéa. If we come to the point of using nicknames, I presume that it'll only be private. Does everyone agree?"

Everyone did agree.

"Ingrid Katheryn Blachard, Three, from Belcourt. One of the fewer Threes who didn't leave her neighbour hood. Brother passed away during service, father was shot by rebels. Home-schooled," Sophia summarised. "I added her because I believe she would be a good representation against the prejudice of the upper class escaping the war, since she stayed at home."

"That sounds like a good idea," Ernest nodded. The others agreed too.

"Next up is Nereida Statten, from Bonita. Remind me again, why her?" Sophia turned to Xander.

He mustered the file curious as well, but Ernest spoke up first. "Connections in her home, status among the people, lack of any opposition towards the caste system, personality, we can't have fifty-five thousand girls that are openly good choices."

"Right," Sophia nodded. She looked slightly confused—of course she did; Sophia probably had forgotten her in the middle of the whole excitement about the Selection.

Louis began skimming through the file. Nereida Statten really didn't seem like anyone noticeable. An adoptive child of unknown, presumed unmarried, parents, Nereida was a Five ever since she had been adopted, she had a sister and was a dancer. The essay was, however, very well written—this was a Three's work, Louis thought—and definitely made it seem like Nereida Statten was a good candidate. If they really needed someone 'not special', then she probably was a good choice.

That was if he was assuming that Nereida Statten did write this.

"Are you sure she wrote that essay?" Louis questioned. "It says that she was home-schooled and primarily focused on her dance training. I cannot believe that she wrote the essay."

Curious, Sophia took the file herself and seemed to read the essay that Nereida (apparently) had written. She handed the file to Xander, evidently questioning her choice.

"Maybe…" she paused. "I see your point, Louis, but we have to admit that we didn't consider the possibility that someone has someone else write their essay. There's no rule against it."

"It makes _me_ question her abilities, if she has to ask someone else to write it."

"I mean," Ernest spoke up, "we all know that I'm not the best at formal writing, but what difference does it make if we're training them either way? She's among the definitive candidates. Even if Sophy and Xander did this when they were overtired, the others probably didn't stand out more. Bonita isn't Illéa's most developed province."

"The intelligence on her points out that she, apparently, was known to have a rich boyfriend…" Xander frowned. "They weren't able to figure out his identity; most friends of her apparently never met him. The boyfriend idea seems to come from her younger sister, but she has confirmed it."

"Rich boyfriend?" Sophia repeated.

"The assumption is a Three, maybe from work, or a wealthy Four. It'd be unlikely to be a Two; that would have gotten to the public, or we could look at military records..."

"If it's a Three, then he probably helped her," Ernest leaned back. "I still don't see the issue with having someone else write it, but a boyfriend?"

"I'm not done yet," Xander replied. He turned a page in the intelligence report on this particular woman. "She came in yesterday. The alleged boyfriend hadn't been in Bonita in months, and broke up with her through a letter. She signed up as a form of revenge."

"That doesn't sound like a good motive," Ernest pointed out.

"It's better than money," Louis replied. "Can I have the report?"

Xander handed him the file. Louis knew exactly what he was looking for—aside of anything problematic (such as Harriet Tailor's step-mother or Nereida Statten's boyfriend), they also focused on the girls' attitude towards the government. Since Nereida Statten only had been chosen yesterday evening, the report probably wasn't very detailed. A side note stated that her father was known to the Two who had written the report, hence the detail. Her adoptive father seemed to be an established pianist.

"The report doesn't seem to state that she has anything against us, the government or so," Louis pointed out, relieved. For a moment, he had been worried that by being a bit of a filler, Sophia and Xander had been easier on her and she was against their government. "She's got no political affiliations or similarly. Never voted in province elections."

"That would make it easier to teach her," Sophia pointed out. "I mean, it sounds mean, but if she has no opinions and so on, she'll be more open to things we do and go through. Plus, she's a Five. People might compare her to grandmother."

"Grandma is a musician though," Ernest pointed out. "She once said herself that she's as much a dancer as a frog."

"Please, grandma is a beautiful ballroom dancer. Better than you," Sophia insisted laughing.

"Is that a dare?" Ernest rose his left eyebrow.

"Maybe?" If Louis didn't know better, they were flirting. _Fortunately_ , they weren't.

"Well, my waltz is much better than yours."

Sophia laughed out. "When was the last time you danced a waltz?"

"Oh, a few months ago, on the beach with a beautiful young lady?"

The princess rolled her eyes. "Please don't tell me you slept with her afterwards?"

"On the beach? Nah. Too sandy."

Louis did not Like Ernest's implication. "Do your dance battles some other time. We have girls to select. Bonita is Nereida Statten, alright. Next?"

Sophia dropped the file onto the pile, still eyeing Ernest who leaned back with a proud grin. He probably did sleep with that poor girl. He probably also dumped her on the next morning, like his one-night stand Friday night two weeks ago. The memory made Louis flush.

"Well, this one was recommended by someone in the Provinces Services Office as well. Sawyer Roth, Four, from Fennley."

"Fennley?" Louis repeated. "Weren't most cities in Fennley occupied by rebels at some point? Any larger, at least?"

"That's why the officer recommended her; she's got a reputation of being absolutely against the rebels, but still caring about people close to her. She's popular as well. She is in high school—she missed a lot because of the occupation—but I think her reputation has… something."

"Reputation?" Ernest asked, rising an eyebrow.

"She fights anyone who gets into her way, if I may quote the official."

Xander interrupted. "Roth is among the candidates that aren't decided yet. There are a few other candidates from Fennley; I see Sophia's point, but I am also a little bit worried about whenever she would be able to fit in a less… violent lifestyle."

"She's a Four though—she's literally in the middle," Ernest remarked. "Going by her file, she seems to be the type to have friends on all sides. Maybe she'd be good to bridging the caste gap between the Selected?"

"Still—if she's still in high school…" Louis replied. "Ernest, you cannot have a crown princess who goes to high school. I'm sorry, but that is a no."

"We can have someone tutor her. Look at you two; you missed schooling too," Sophia remarked.

"Still—how does it look?"

"We are giving everyone a chance?" Sophia shrugged. "I'm worried enough that people will catch on the fact that we aren't spending a month with security checks…"

"You could have been honest," Louis replied. "The whole idea around the lady-in-waiting thing will only cause confusion and anger from the press. I'm calling it. Does she have any experience that's of value?"

"She's a part-time worker in a restaurant that is managed by her father, and a DJ."

"These are borderline Six and Five jobs," Louis pointed out. "The caste system isn't there to annoy people—it's to keep the economy stable. It's borderline illegal."

"Borderline," Xander repeated. "It's within legal area."

"Still—people will ask questions. Am I the only one who wants to avoid scandals?"

"You aren't," Sophia shook her head, "but I'm more interested in the description. She sounds like a fighter—someone people would look up to. I mean, you'd probably judge Xander as lawful good. She sounds like chaotic good; it'd be a good add on for publicity."

"Pardon me?" Xander turned to his sister. "What are you talking about?"

"… Stuff. I don't know; I picked it up on Tumblr," Sophia shrugged. "The thing is—I think she sounds good. Besides, if she turns out bad, we still need some people to throw out early. We were considering having the first elimination on the girls' second or third day in the Illéa Palace."

"Hm?" Ernest looked up. "What do you mean?"

"As you know, the official announcement of the Selected will be on one of the last days of March. They will move to the Illéa Palace on March 31st or so, and have their public debut on the following day, on father's birthday ball."

"If he holds one, it is," Sophia added. "I hope I'll be able to talk him into it. Things look good right now, but who knows…" She looked aside. "Otherwise, I'll make up something."

"How and when will you do the elimination, though?" Louis straightened his back. He didn't like the fast approach—what if they missed the right girl? Sure, there were already a few candidates he wasn't so sure about, including this Sawyer Roth, but the Selection was about love… Did Xander seriously want him to go and marry one of these women? How was he meant to do that? They all probably hated him, or were interested in Xander! Put them next to each other; Xander was the heir. Serious, strong and definitely better looking than Louis was. What did he have? Books, a terrible image and mommy issues.

"Louis?" Sophia spoke up. "Hey, are you alright? You're a bit too white for my taste…"

"I…" Louis hesitated. No. No, he wasn't going to tell Ernest or Xander that. Maybe he'd talk to Sophia later, but not now. This wasn't anything they'd ever hear. "I'm fine, thank you for asking."

"So… how and when does the elimination happen?" Ernest overlooked Louis' tension. As always, he didn't care. What a good brother, huh? "Are you seriously just going to go by test results?"

Xander shook his head. "No, but we'll take them into consideration. Sophia will look at how the girls are doing, and we'll meet them on the day they arrive, or something like that."

"We do need a formal first meeting for the cameras, but honestly, that's stupid. Everyone will be awkward," Sophia explained. "My idea was to do that, get it behind us, and then spend the evening together. I was suggesting to invite some friends of us; it'd make it more personal. At least one of them will become a part of our family after all."

The idea of a stranger marrying Xander was weird. Louis shuddered at the thought of having to meet and live with a stranger in their house, but then again, what was he expecting? This was what they always had to expect. It always had been known to them, so why was he worried?

"Sophy," Ernest spoke up, "all your friends are billionaires. It'll intimidate them."

Not all were, Louis wanted to correct, but Ernest probably didn't care about how valid his comment was.

"You have slept with all your 'friends', Ernest. I am afraid to tell you that such is not a better choice."

Ernest sighed and turned to Louis, rolling his eyes. "I have not slept with _all_ my friends, thank you. I'm straight, and pretty happy with that."

"You never know for sure," Sophia hummed.

"Oh," Ernest laughed, "I do. I'm straight for sure, and Louis— _your_ only friends are books and your horse. Don't you want to be an old cat library with a library?"

"No, Ernest, I am very well aware of my responsibilities—unlike you. Do you have anything against books? You probably could learn a lot from them."

Xander sighed. "This is enough," he spoke with a louder voice than before. He silenced the two brothers. "If you have friends you would like to invite, tell me. I will decide."

Sawyer Roth wandered onto the Selected pile, without anyone caring whenever she was actually adequate for the Selection or not. They continued with Bankston—a Three onto whom all fortunately agreed, and went on to Dakota.

"You should have organised these files," Louis pointed out.

"Believe me, if you read about so many people as I did, you would have given up by now too, Louis," Sophia replied. "Dakota. Anastasia Collins, Three, Bio-environmental engineer at I-TEC. Excellent academic track record, intelligent, promising. Decent family. Has nice ideals and looks good."

"Sounds fun," Ernest rolled his eyes bored. "Next?"

"I don't have anything to say against her. Any background issues?"

"She lives alone but has contact to her family. Intelligence says that it's a bit strained but, I mean, we aren't exactly the best example of a loving family," Sophia glared at the brothers. It was Ernest's fault, Louis wanted to say, but she'd probably just shush him. Anastasia Collins wandered onto the file without any further comment, despite Ernest's apparent opinion that she was boring. To Louis, Anastasia sounded like exactly the type of woman they needed—what was Ernest complaining about? Was he worried that he couldn't sleep with every single of the Selected? Oh, of course, he was. Ridiculous.

"On that hand, another good choice working for I-TEC too, Jaira Phillips from Whites. She looks cute."

"This is Xander's Selection," Louis pointed out neutral.

"In case you confused it," Ernest added laughing.

Sophia joined him. "I'm just a confused bisexual," she joked.

Xander did not laugh. "Sophia, we are not selecting someone just because they look cute," Xander pointed out.

"Are you jealous of her?"

Xander blushed. "I'm not!" He was. "Go on," he added quickly.

Probably even more because out of the royal siblings, Sophia was definitely the one with the strongest relationship track record. Ernest's fifty thousand one nightstands didn't count; Sophia's relationship had been meaningful, and not just physically. Louis remembered how long she had cried after breaking up with her last boyfriend… Oh great. Please not again.

"Well, it's another great academic track record, and—"

"Question," Louis interrupted her. "Did you two select them, or did only Sophy do this?"

"I did most of them; Xander skimmed over it," Sophia replied humming.

"I have a country to run, Louis," the Crown Prince reminded him.

"We should have taken more time on this…" Louis muttered under his breath. The whole organisation was crappy at best…

"She's similar to Anastasia Collins. Intelligent, dedicated, wants to do more for the country. I-TEC is good at selecting their employees, I guess," Sophia replied. "She enjoys reading, by the way."

"I never said anything against Jaira Phillips," Louis replied. "But anyone who appreciates books must have a good character."

Ernest groaned. "Please tell me you have more than just perfect students, Sophy."

As if on cue—Jaira Phillips was chosen as Selected as well—Sophia smiled and dumped another file onto the table. Minerva Loren Whitefield, from Allens, the title read. Louis took it before Ernest (who proceeded to complain); Minerva (another one who preferred a nickname—Minnie) was a business graduate who currently interned at I-TEC as well.

"Lots of I-TEC people, huh?"

"They profited during the Unrest," Xander pointed out.

"She has served too," Louis remarked. "Not very long though. Is there a reason why?" He flipped through the pages to find her military record. "Oh, I see. Health stuff, but nothing that'd affect her ability to be queen, per se." Louis wasn't very convinced though, but he knew very well that Xander was, if he had to choose, on soldier's sides. Minnie Whitefield definitely had a good starting point, and it wasn't like anything else on her résumé was bad.

"The intelligence has noted that she'd definitely get along with your party habits, Ernest." Sophia's voice was far too happy and cheerful for the nature of the subject. "I'm sure you'd get along."

Ernest shrugged. "Whatever. Go ahead."

Why the sudden change in opinion? He had been alright with the first girls, then absolutely annoyed by the following ones, and now, he didn't care? Louis looked to his brothers while they continued discussing a candidate for Yukon that they ended up dismissing as unfit. Ernest was tense. He wasn't half-lying as he often did; he was sitting up straight. His eyes were focused on the papers, and he almost seemed to be worried that someone was watching him—that was the way Louis usually behaved, not Ernest! What in the world was going on with him?

Had he done something?

Probably.

Was it worse than usually?

Definitely.

But what? There wasn't much that Louis could do—as long as Ernest didn't say anything, he was just having some secret that seemed to pressure or worry him. If he started digging, he'd probably just get into trouble, or Ernest would tell their family about that Friday night…

"Let's take a break," Xander suggested. "We all need to be focused onto this."

The others agreed. Grateful, Louis leaned back, but his eyes remained with the already Selected girls. He had gone into this meeting wondering about the publicity, the organisation and his 'role', as Ernest called it. Here he was, contemplating the possibility of him falling in love. It was strange, he thought. He never expected to marry for love—such a privilege, or the illusion to it, was only there for the heir. Any younger siblings? Their marriages hadn't been pure romances. Why wasn't he glad to be given the chance?

Probably because these girls signed up for Xander, not for him. If they even signed up for him, it was…

"Louis?" Sophia asked quietly. Louis looked to her; the rest of the siblings had left the room. They took the 'break' thing serious, huh?

"Yes?"

"What's up?" Sophia asked, before taking a seat next to him. "Are you worried about the cameras and attention of the Selection?"

Louis hesitated to answer. Sophia always came to him—he didn't even need to ask for help—but was that right? Sure, out of the five siblings, she had the least problems but still… Well, Louis thought, if she wanted to help, then he might as well talk to her.

After all, thanks to Xander, he didn't have a mother for that anymore.

"I… I'm not sure what to think of Xander's plan for Ernest and me, with the Selection." Louis blushed. Why in the world couldn't he just say 'Xander's plan for me to marry'? What was so difficult about it?

"You know, you aren't the only one worried," Sophia assured him.

"What do you mean?"

"One of Xander's closest friends started a betting pool on the Selection. Most bets are on Xander being an awkward muffin."

"That doesn't help _me_."

"Alright," Sophia replied with a nod. "What exactly are you worried about?" She fiddled with her chiffon dress.

"… I don't even know. I can't imagine anything."

"Well, no one knows about Xander's plans but us. You can just start out with watching from the side lines. Maybe someone likes books too? Jaira Phillips did, didn't she?"

"Yes but…" He paused.

"But?"

"I don't know," Louis shook his head. "I can't imagine that anyone would actually be interested in me. I can't imagine me being interested in anyone."

"That's fine," Sophia replied. "Nothing is a must, you know. Just stay by the sides for now, and see how it goes. If nothing happens, that's fine too—you're only nineteen, I get that."

Louis bit on his lip, suppressing his answer—their father had been eighteen, as per tradition, when he met his wife. Age didn't matter—not for royals at least. That wasn't an excuse.

"Just go and see how it goes, okay? I'll make sure that Xander doesn't pressure you into anything you don't want."

Louis nodded. "Thank you," he said even though he didn't genuinely mean it. There was just too much that he didn't know how to explain.

/ / /

 **Baine Mansion, Parral, Paloma  
Zarah Baine**

Zarah Baine, a born Six, knew both sides of the coin. She had seen how the rich lived and how the poor suffered. Zarah herself probably still lived on the dark side of the coin but then again, she was glad to know that if she ever needed help, she had two Twos as aunt and uncle. Considering the fact that she was a Six and currently was in the living room of a fancy building owned by the major of Parral, she was pretty well off. Well, besides the fact that she still had two jobs because she didn't want to rely on her aunt and uncle. That was more personal pride though. Plus, it helped with her image for the charity work she usually did, and it just felt right. As if she was slapping her life into the face of upper castes who thought they had a reason to look down at her.

She turned a page of the folder she was reading while nipping on her glass of water. It was the plan for a charity event in a nicer part of the town that was meant to collect additional money to restore a sports centre that just wasn't among the government's top priorities.

"This is boring," she pointed out.

"Of course, it's paperwork," Xaviour Perez, her boyfriend, replied.

"I didn't mean that," Zarah replied, dropping the folder down. "Like, it's just nothing that really grabs your attention? If I had millions of dollars on my bank account, I'd just go to look nice, drop a thousand and leave. It's nothing that touches your heart."

"Sounds fun."

"I heard your manager wants you to come," Zarah shot back.

Xaviour groaned. His manager probably was right; it'd be good for the singer's popularity, but he failed to have the enthusiasm that his girlfriend had. He leaned against Zarah's shoulder. "Then do make it interesting, honey."

"I'm trying," she replied. "Anything new from him about us?"

Xaviour shook his head. "He still doesn't want us to go public. Too much drama about me dating a nobody, he says."

"Welp," Zarah shrugged. "He knows that my uncle's the major, doesn't he?"

"Doesn't make him less a caste-superiority prick," Xaviour shrugged. "He doesn't like that you're not a Two, and he doesn't get that it's damn expensive to buy you up to being a Two. Your uncle needs the money for his next campaign, but my manager doesn't get it."

"Prick," Zarah agreed. "Seriously, though, I mean, yeah, I do a Six's work, but I'm hanging at charity galas like you do. Where's the difference?"

"People's mindset, apparently."

Zarah dropped the folder. "About that though, I was thinking of applying for the Selection."

"What?" Xaviour turned to her. "Am I not enough for you?"

"No, honey, you're a keep," Zarah shook her head. "More like, Selected are super popular and I'd be a Three. I just need the caste, and then I leave as soon as possible. No one said that I gotta stay there to become a Three. You know Abby Moon? She left the Selection as one of the first, but she still scored a Two in the first days, and she became lady-in-waiting to the Queen. I did my research."

"Oh, I see your point," Xaviour nodded. "Did you speak to your parents though?"

"Not yet, I wanted your opinion first, but it sounds like a realistic thing. Famous singer dates former Selected. Totally something that could happen, right?"

Xaviour nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. The money you get could go to your sister's caste too. Then your uncle and aunt don't need to stress about you two being Sixes anymore."

"Then I'd probably need to stay in for more than a week though."

"What do you think about the royal family?"

Zarah shrugged. "I don't know. Rules are meant to be broken, but I think there's a line and the rebels overstepped that."

"I meant them as humans, not the government versus usurping rebels situation," Xaviour laughed. "Believe me, I have had so much press talk about that, I'm done with it."

"I guess… Louis is a jerk."

"He's a stupid child."

"That too, and a jerk," Zarah decided, before pushing her boyfriend aside. She dropped her leather jacket on the floor, threw the beanie aside and probably hit a glass or something expensive. Oops. Whatever.

"My sister is sleeping over at a friends' house today," she told Xaviour. "Are you staying?"

"What about your aunt and uncle?"

"Still on their holiday. They're coming back tomorrow morning."

"Cool, I am," Xaviour replied, before awkwardly smiling. He looked aside. "So, what do you think of the royals? Besides Louis?"

"I guess it's cool that the Crown Prince served in the military and that he didn't make, like, a big thing out of it. Sophia's a bit too much perfect little princess, and God knows what Victoria does nowadays." Zarah shrugged and dropped back onto the couch. "Why?"

"… I'm worried," Xaviour admitted.

"About what?" Zarah laughed. "That I'll ditch you for one of these guys? Nah. Took me long enough to get together with you, I'm not going to do this again."

"But what if the Crown Prince likes you?" Xaviour worried. He sat up straight, unlike Zarah's terrible posture, and looked down.

"Then I'll make sure that he'll change his mind," Zarah laughed. "Xav, seriously, if it wasn't for my family, I'd probably have joined the rebels. Like, they actually stood up for what they believed in. That's awesome, to be honest."

"So… you'd have hurt people?"

"Nah. That's the boundary I don't like, but protest? Definitely, I'm in."

"I'm still not sure though…" he sighed. "I don't want to lose you, honey."

"Don't worry, you won't. I know where you live and have decent orientation."

"That's… not what I mean."

Zarah leaned back and dumped her legs onto Xaviour's. "Plus, if I join the Selection, people will pay attention to me. I can do something to stop people discriminating onto the lower castes, you know? I just need to get in."

"Paloma is huge," Xaviour pointed out. "How do you plan to do that?"

"Well, I'm a Six but I do philanthropy. You know, that isn't something that happens every day. I'm sure that looks good."

"… It's a lottery."

"It's called Selection. It's called 'the Selected', Xav. I'm sorry but, you know, I doubt it's random."

"Hmhm."

"Anyone believes that the Selection is real and true love exists is a hopeless romantic."

Xaviour cringed. "So, I am a hopeless romantic?"

Zarah laughed and turned around to him, pulling him closer. "Yes, you are."

Xaviour opened his mouth to respond, but he had no time to respond; Zarah kissed him already. He was her boyfriend after all, and she didn't want people to think he belonged to anyone but her. If she needed to play along in the Selection, that was perfectly fine.

"… But," he hesitated. "I… Are you really just trying to get a higher caste? There are other ways than dating a total stranger…"

"I am," Zarah sighed. "Why in the world would I want to end up with a prince?"

"Because he has much more money and everyone wants to be a princess?"

Zarah deadpanned. She pointed towards the leather jacket on the ground, the beanie and the pair of plateau heels she had been wearing. "Yeah, because a princess would _totally_ wear these heels."

Xaviour opened his mouth to respond, and closed it again. "Okay. Okay. Okay…"

"I mean, I really just need to be a Three, so if it worries you so much, I'll just make sure to make a terrible impression and get eliminated first or so."

"… Just don't get into trouble, honey."

"Haven't I already told you that I won't?"

"It sounds like you will though. I'm sure that you'll get into trouble for… I don't know. Something."

"My aunt and uncle are politicians. My sister is a high school student. I drive and do secretary work. There's nothing interesting to get in trouble for. My parents died in a car accident—I don't have any connection to the rebels."

"You have a secret boyfriend, and that's against the law?"

"Having a boyfriend isn't."

"Yeah but—"

"It'll be fine. I'll make some cool friends, have fun and I'll be back soon."

Xaviour sighed. "Alright. Whatever you want, honey."

Zarah smiled content. To her, the whole plan would absolutely work. She just needed to get up to caste Three, and there she was, a totally eligible girlfriend. Besides, she'd probably make some good money, and then could see what to do with the rest of her life. She wasn't planning to settle down anytime soon.

"But now, to other things. I'll talk this through with my uncle tomorrow."

"Sounds like a good plan," Xaviour nodded, not very convinced. He probably just worried too much about losing her, Zarah concluded. Such a naïve sweetie. Her naïve sweetie.

/ / /

 **Rosy's apartment, Minnesota, Sota  
Euphrosyne "Rosy" Tillings**

" _This is fine_."

Rosy was lost at the first sentence of the royal messenger. There were so many things that didn't make sense, that she had to ask him to repeat things multiple times—and she was intelligent. It didn't help that Rosy had spent ten minutes pacing up and down the hallway of her small apartment before finally opening the door a millimetre.

" _This is fine_ ," she reminded herself again.

To be fair, that wasn't her fault. She hadn't grown up with friends surrounding her, and a loving family who encouraged her but rather as weirdo in the corner who didn't get what emotions even were despite a perfect test score, and parents yelling at her for not being their dear oldest child. Too bad that she was dead now.

" _This is fine_." Why did she not feel like it was? She wasn't panicking, but something told her to be worried. Better listen to the messages that she received, Rosy thought.

No, genuinely, Rosy missed her. Her sister had been awesome, incredible and the best she could have asked for, but nope, she had to die in a damned bombing. Good job, government, they were absolutely protecting the people. Not. They had failed in doing that, the AirForce had bombed the building in the middle of the Great Unrest. Including her sister in it. Who had burned to death. Absolutely perfect work, government.

"Uh… uhm…" She stopped. "So… what do you mean?"

"I am here to offer you a position in the lady-in-waiting training programme I just explained, ma'am."

"Uh, yeah, I heard that… but why me?" There was absolutely no reason to ask her. Sure, she had a good academic track record, worked at a research lab with good reputation and was in her second year of uni already… but yeah, why her?

Rosy's parents did lots of socialising and socialite work, trying to establishing themselves despite being music producers, but Rosy? She hid behind books and brains. Biology was much more her preferred topic than the latest gossip or something.

"Your Selection application has gained the interest of the committee in charge of it."

"Oh." Rosy blinked. "But I didn't apply for the Selection."

"… You are Euphrosyne Tillings, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am…?" Rosy hesitated. Oh gosh. What in the world was happening? Had this been her mother? Sure, she knew that they had been in a bit of a crisis thanks to lack of demand for music written during the civil war, but they still had lots of inheritance and all…

"Then we've received an application by you."

"But I didn't…?"

Wordless, the messenger opened a folder. The first page was a Selection application. Rosy had seen it when one of the letters had arrived at her own home, but she hadn't ever filled it out. It ended in the rubbish bin because TV? Princess? Queen? That wasn't her.

But the details were all correct. Address, telephone number, birthdate, social security—everything perfect. However, Rosy recognised the handwriting. She had been right; it was her mother.

"That wasn't me, my mother filled this out."

"Did she?" the messenger asked surprised. "I understand. I will inform the palace and—"

"But… uh…" Rosy interrupted him. "Pardon, but would you mind giving me some time to consider? I'm not particularly interested in the Selection but the programme sounds interesting."

"Uh, really, I should just report this and—"

"If it's an issue," Rosy added, trying to be convincing (and probably failing), "then just don't mention that I didn't fill in the form?"

"Ma'am, really, I'm not sure if that's such a good idea."

"Please," she sighed, "my parents are bugging me every single day about being more like my sister. This was part of it, and if I just did the programme—even if I don't pass—I'd have an excuse to let them go."

"Ma'am, I really can't decide this. I need to report the incident."

"Then do that but ask, okay?" Rosy forced a smile. "Please?"

"I can try but… I cannot promise anything, Miss."

"Awesome, thank you, come back if you have an answer!" Rosy slammed the door closed.

She didn't mean to be impolite but this was… awkward? Annoying? Terrible? A torture of social settings that she absolutely detested, as much as she hated the royals for authorising the attack onto a place where rebels and civilians were?

Something along these lines.

"Alrightie, Rosy, just breathe," she told herself. "It'll be fine. This might be the best way to get into mum's good graces without doing anything social. I get to see my sister again, and she might stop wanting me to be Thalia's copy too."

As much as she loved her older sister who had always been smart, kind and beautiful, she couldn't ever be her again. The beautiful music producer-turned-model had died, and ever since, her parents wanted her to be Thalia 2.0.

But she wasn't.

She was Rosy, the shy and awkward girl who wanted to be a scientist because that was something that actually made sense. Her parents were far too obsessed with mixing with Twos. Even Rosy—who knew about social settings as much as she knew about skydiving (okay, no, skydiving was physics. Soccer!)—knew that the wealth of Twos who had become Twos by fame was as fickle as a flame in rain.

But for now, it made money and status, apparently.

"And, I mean, you might even be able to befriend with some of the royals? No… they're too public. Maybe someone who works there, and has an idea of the military? I could finally know _who_ authorised the bombing…"

She pulled out a notepad and a pen, her mind already somewhere else. She needed to write down to remember to demand to know from her mother why she thought it was alright to sign her up for the Selection. She didn't need that spotlight—it was frightening!—or some prince to compete for. Romance was just not on her thing.

"This is fine," she reminded herself again. She probably should actually be panicking. That whole idea wasn't thought out well at all, but the messenger's response was somewhat relieving. The fact that she hadn't been intending to sign up at all was probably going to stop herself from being accepted, so all was going to be fine.

She'd just forget the whole incident.

Except, yeah, three hours later that Rosy spend reading and studying for university, writing this and that, the messenger returned with a pleased smile, announcing that he had gotten the alright. Could she pack out of this?

"Please, just take a seat in the lounge," Rosy insisted, before hurrying into her bedroom and finishing the last thing she knew to do.

Tarot cards.

Please, the messenger would probably not understand how true the cards could be, and just walk off, like everyone else, wouldn't he? Quickly and swiftly, with trained hands, she laid a tarot formation (a simple one—she really didn't have the time for more), and skimmed over the cards.

The Star, the Wheel of Fortune and the Fool.

The Fool representing herself, the Wheel of Fortune representing the turn of events and the Star representing the future.

"… So, you think I should do it?" she whispered. The Fool meant that she was to embark on a journey, and the Wheel of Fortune indicated that said journey would be one blessed by luck. The Star presented an ideal, wished outcome.

So she should, Rosy concluded.

With a deep breath and the three tarot cards in her hand, she rose and joined the messenger who was patiently waiting in the living room.

"Please… excuse that, I had to do something quickly," she replied. "Please, do tell me more."

One more time (which probably wasn't the first time he explained this to Rosy), the messenger explained what was going on. What she would be expected to do, and what she could expect in return.

And Rosy nodded and nodded. She made a few notes, asked questions. This was almost like research or so, well, almost. Taking in information wasn't difficult. It was easy, it was what she did every single day. Signing her name wasn't either, and discussing meeting times wasn't difficult either. Basics. Easy. Nothing difficult.

What really was difficult was calling her mother after the messenger left. Five times, she almost called her, but ended up not doing so. Instead, she ended up sending one big text message, erased it four times again and rewrote it.

It ended with one brief message sent via text to the mother that had always favoured one girl above the other two, and was the reason why Rosy's younger sister now ignored her talents in favour of copying Thalia and gaining their parents' favour.

 **Rosy:** Please don't submit something in my name again. I'll be going away for a few weeks and probably won't be able to contact you. Just don't do that again.

/ / /

 _Dearest Sophia,_

 _Please do apologise my informal response, but I was excited to hear about the news of the forthcoming Selection. I have spoken to Carlos, and he shares my feelings about visiting you. I am entirely sure that Carl and Luigi would love to see you five again, and meeting the Selected will be a good exercise for Carl as well. I was considering coming for Adrian's birthday, but I understand that with the Selected's arrival, you probably don't want to host another four guests and household. I do wish to congratulate him to his birthday though—maybe mid-april? What are your plans?_

 _You must tell me how Adrian is doing. I have not heard of him since his large formal notice; it's so unusual for him to not keep in touch. Is he with your dear grandmother? How is Jonathan doing? I hope you all are doing well; you must be so strong._

 _How is poor Victoria doing? I believe I have not seen her in almost a decade! I very much hope that she is improving; you know that she is always welcome here. I hope she is readjusting to life and is receiving the help she needs? Carlos worries that she's too enclosed in the Illéa Palace, and I must admit that I share his concern._

 _I also very much hope that Ernest and Louis will adept adequately to the Selection. I understand that both will be in a very much strange situation, and you can assure them my uttermost support. How are you handling the situation? Imagine, you'll soon have a sister-in-law!_

 _Please do also tell me how Xander is fairing. I am concerned with Adrian's behavior, but I cannot help but understand him. Lys was his life after all. Is he handling his responsibilities well? I do remember so well that he and Louis always preferred work over public engagements…_

 _Yours affectionately,  
Amelie Savoy_

/ / / _  
_

 **Author's Note**

 **I promise y'all that not every chapter will be 10k from now on. This and the next chapter were originally mean to be one chapter… Oops. Yeah. It's split for now. I got off track. Sorry.**

 **The letter is chronologically set... somewhere? Idk tbh. It's more like an obvious foreshadow / teaser :P**

 **You got a chapter early because I'm on a trip for the next three days, including my Friday (probs Thursday for most of you). I don't want to forget to upload, so you get it early. Something I'll need to discuss though is, that after debating this since writing chapter 5, I've decided to add 2 years to everyone's age. This doesn't change the timeline of the story, everyone is just two years older. I think for most of the characters, this'll be more realistic (i.e. the ones who were in the war, the fact that Vic had been present at meetings with the king's advisors (1311, y'all, better than nothing). I'll be making edits next weekend (Slyther was so sweet to check through chapter 6 and 7), if you wanna help tell me. The Selection age range thus is 20 - 24 (with Xander being 22).**

 **Out of my head, I only know that there is one case where the age up two years won't happen-that's Sawyer; she'll only get one year to fit into the new age range (two years of occupation are also worse (hence her still being in school) hahaha I want angst). If you'd like to discuss the age of your OC (anything between 20-24 is a go), I'm open to it, but I feel like it makes sense in most cases.**

 **Complains can be sent to me, but please do acknowledge that I feel much more comfortable like this, and I've been debating this since February.**

 **In other news, next chapter:** »Maybe Helena would offer refugee? «


	10. Chapter 9

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, the siblings began selecting the Selected. However, as usual with the royal siblings, Louis and Ernest fought about half of them. Louis had to explain why he heads a strong dislike towards the lower castes, and they ended up taking a break to calm down. As usual, the Selected's POV aren't set at the same time._

 _This chapter includes spoilers for the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer and the Red Queen series by Victoria Aveyard._

 **Chapter 09**

»Maybe Helena would offer refuge? «

 **Meeting room in the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Prince Louis of Illéa**

The meeting continued twenty minutes later. Minutes that Louis spent on one of the balconies of the palace, smoking one of the "cancer sticks", as Sophia liked to call them. Knowing all too well that Sophia would look at him disapprovingly if she smelled them, he returned to the room. They still had a long way to go—they weren't going to end before dinner, and the plan was to send this out by tomorrow…

"As for Carolina, I would recommend Princilla Chamberlain." Xander began immediately once all four were sitting. "Her family is a family of Twos focusing on popular media. I've been thinking about this for a while. She doesn't have many qualities that we necessarily need, but as pointed out before, we need variety. If we have thirty girls that are the same—good academic career and dedication—then people will notice that something is wrong. Her family isn't amazingly popular, but from what can be said about her personality, I am confident to say that she would be a good choice. There are no issues coming from her background either."

"What does she work as?" Ernest asked curious.

"Country singer-songwriter," Louis read out from the file. "It's written here, you know. She lives on a farm, cares for the animals there including chicken and horses, is described as a sweet person, and has her parents who work in Hollywood and a news reporter as sister."

"Sounds decent, I guess. Who listens to country nowadays, though?"

"I presume we will," Sophia replied. "I don't have anything to oppose either. Going by the intelligence, she prefers Cilla, though," she added. "But otherwise, sure. We have another Selected."

"On a similar site, I wouldn't want too many celebrities," Xander explained. "The next choice is Tessera "Evans from St. George. She isn't employed at the moment, but essentially helps out at a farm close to her home. She comes from a village, which made me think that she probably would be a good representation for the countryside and people from less large cities. No problems in the background, except possibly her parents' divorce, but she doesn't have contact with her father."

"Sounds cool," Ernest nodded. "I got the hang of it by now; she's got a preferred name too—Tessa."

Louis rose his eyebrow, but didn't say anything just yet. He understood Cilla Chamberlain. The name rung a bell; the Chamberlains probably were friends of their mother, but this random Four? Xander hadn't even mentioned her caste. Going by the file he was holding, she loved horses, and with Cilla, Louis could see a pattern.

These girls had something in common, and it almost felt like Sophia had spoken to Xander to make sure that they came up now. She probably had. Tessa Evans was placed on the pile, and by the time Sophia finished with introducing the next girl, Louis was rolling his eyes.

"Then there's Rowan Johannson, from Kent. A Seven working as farmer who is taking care of her siblings due to the lack of parental presence. This one comes from dad a bit. He said that we should look at the situations of the girls, since a researcher or scientist would probably not be able to handle the pressure of royal life as good as someone who is used to helping their family survive on the brink of survival. Rowan sounds like such a type. She works on a farm owned by Fours that are close friends, and stated that she wants to allow her younger brother to study at college; she's saving money for him to become a Three, essentially."

"Hm," Louis nodded, "probably. What else? Any interesting skills?"

"Another horse lover, but not really."

"You're shoving in people who like horses because I do enjoy riding, don't you?" Louis deadpanned.

"I—Uh..." Sophia looked to Xander.

"It's not a major criterion, but among the cases of such women who showed the criteria Sophia mentioned, yes, Rowan Johannson was chosen because of that," Xander replied serious. He looked as if it wasn't a mean thing to do—they were manipulating him, weren't they?

But what had he to complain about? Maybe this Rowan and he could get along? She seemed like a decent person who accepted the system…

"Alright, then this Rowan it is," Ernest shrugged disinterested. "Which province is next?"

"There's another similar case from Sumner. I think she's actually a good choice, but some things cause me a bit worry," Sophia replied. She handed the brothers a folder. "Isla Woodley. Seven, Mechanic."

"Okay?" Ernest nodded. "And?"

"She is the legal guardian of a young child, and I am a bit worried that she might be in the Selection for the money only, but then again…"

"I think she is a decent choice," Xander replied. "She is from one of the Sumner cities that were given up on; she'd be a good reminder to the people that we are giving our best to restore the city. Plus, if she can survive there, then she probably has some good abilities. She has an interesting background as well, but these things were prior the Unrest."

"Alright," Ernest nodded. "What about the kid? Why is she the legal guardian?"

"The child is her niece," Sophia replied. "Her sister left her with Isla. She requested guardianship since the child otherwise would have become an Eight. The child is a born Two though, and has retained her status, if that matters."

"Who'll care for her?"

"I presume that Isla Woodley would probably ask to bring her along. She'll be told about the lady-in-waiting programme, so it wouldn't look like a big deal to her…"

"She's not her daughter," Louis pointed out. "There wouldn't be any possible disputes about the line of succession—if anyone would come up with such a stupid idea."

"It wouldn't at all," Xander reminded him. "My heir needs to be my child."

Louis chuckled. "You know that the press likes to spread confusion sometimes."

"Would it be an issue, though? I mean, Rowan also cares for two children—then we'd have three kids running around. And? As long as they don't destroy anything…" Ernest suggested.

"Money," Xander replied. "We'd need to employ staff to care for them."

"We could take that money away from the girls' pay for the Selection. Neither of them seems to have particularly much family to care for otherwise," Louis proposes.

"That sounds mean, though," Sophia insisted.

"We could give them a choice. They are given the numbers, we could have the messenger add the note for them."

"We'd need someone to calculate the exact numbers," Xander replied. "You need clothes, food, accommodation…"

"It'll be fine, Xander," Sophia insisted. "If it's so bad, then they can sleep in my rooms. I like kids."

"We don't need a governess for them," Ernest added. "It's literally just someone to make sure they don't hurt themselves, clothes, food. We have the room space. If you want to be fair to everyone, I'm sure we could rearrange these two girls room, too. Also, everyone loves kids. The public's gonna love it."

"I agree," Louis replied bitter. "Let's go for them."

Xander sighed. "Alright. But this is a negative for them right now."

"We got it," Sophia nodded quickly. "You want to save money, Xander, it's nothing new…"

To make sure that Xander wasn't going to complain anymore about costs, she smashed Isla Woodley's file onto the Selected pile. Louis couldn't help a grin; Xander was being ridiculous. They were in a good plus, Illéa was recovering and people would cope if the healthcare wasn't supported by even more money.

"The next one is Zarah Blaine, who apparently prefers Zare, from Paloma" Sophia replied. "A Six with some characteristic questions, but she's got an interesting background. She isn't perfectly off herself, but she is active in various charity organisations. She seems to be decent with handling stress as well, and yeah, she's another one of the cases based on dad's advice. Her aunt and uncle are from a good standard too, so I think she'd be a good example. She's the legal guardian of her sister, but this isn't a case like Isla and Rowan; her aunt and uncle probably can take care of them. Parents died in an accident."

"What do you mean with characteristic questions?" Louis asked.

"It's maybe weirdly phrased a little bit," Sophia replied with hesitation, "but there's a bit of worry on her personality. She's more of the rebellious type, but wasn't involved with the uprising. We have no trace that she supported the rebels either; she is active in charities helping people to deal with the consequences of the Great Unrest."

Louis nodded. "I understand. She sounds good, if it wasn't for that…"

"Come on," Ernest leaned back, "where's the problem with someone not following every single rule that exists? We survived with me, we'll cope with one more."

"Yeah, this might be a case that is slightly directed to Ernest…" Sophia added.

Ernest grinned. "I don't mind."

"I guessed," Sophia smiled awkwardly, and looked to Xander. "Any comments?"

Xander didn't reply immediately; he was thinking. "I agree with Louis' worries, but I also understand your point. I would say to accept her as well, but to keep an eye on her and whenever she fits in."

"Alright," Sophia nodded. "Then let's take her, and watch out how she does. Next?"

Everyone nodded.

"Then, from Panama, Deylin Reyes. She's a Five who makes pottery. Her family lost her father, and going by the people who know them, she alongside her mother holds the family together. She is an artist, and has a pretty normal family for Fives. She isn't too popular, but has close friends. I think she is a good choice since she doesn't have anything 'special' sticking out, but she's an artist, and I think that artists are great people."

"Such as?" Louis questioned.

"Your grandmother?"

She's a special case, Louis wanted to replied, but he didn't. This was just going to start yet another fight.

"Alright," Ernest nodded. "I don't see a problem. Xander?"

"I agree with Sophia's judgement. She isn't the ideal candidate, but she might bring in a few skills that are helpful."

"Great," Sophia smiled. "Then, from another point completely, there is Alex Valentino. Alessandra Valentino. She's a Two from Columbia, and her parents bought her up. Her father owns an oil company; they're upper class. I know her family, and they are good people. Alex applied on her own as well, but she works as a model. I think she'd be a good visual catcher and someone to get the attention from the general public, since Cilla isn't an A-list singer. She knows how the world works and all."

"She's probably the exact opposite of the other girls though," Ernest replied. "Like, she probably has no idea with how the war works, how the government works and all. She's just a model."

"You've slept with enough models to not be in a position to complain," Louis muttered.

"That's not my point," Ernest sighed. "She probably has no idea of life."

"You don't know her," Xander replied. "We do need someone who can deal with the upper class. I agree with her, she's in."

"I mean," Louis shrugged at his brother, "she looks good. Do you need anything else?"

The only answer he gained was a cold, annoyed glare. Louis didn't see a point in it; Alex Valentino was exactly what Ernest liked, wasn't she? He had no idea who she was, but if she was a model, she probably was also into partying and all."

"The next two choices are fairly set," Xander continued on. "From Labrador, Leda Conner. A Four, stockbroker, with a noticeable resumé and background. She has connections to some former government workers as well, and—"

"She submitted a résumé rather than a self-introduction," Sophia interrupted, leaning towards her brothers. "The next one, too."

" _Sophia_ ," Xander warned. "As well as Irina Cavanah from Ottaro. She is a former soldier and currently a construction management trainee. Both have a decent background on their own, and I selected them."

Louis skimmed through the file of both girls. Leda Conner had connections to a finance advisor from the early days of Adrian's reign (something that Louis didn't know enough about to judge, but he had negative connotations to the name…) and another young woman who described to have lost her brother who had been conscripted. She volunteered herself. In general, she sounded like the type of person Xander would like.

"Whatever," Ernest shrugged. "I don't have anything against them."

"I don't either… who is that Larchen person though?"

"Former government advisor," Xander replied briefly. "Not exactly the best there was, but it proves that she knows people with background. Larchen was involved into Project Omega."

And that meant a lot, Louis concluded. He nodded soundlessly while the two wandered on to the pile of Selected. He had agreed with Larchen when he had studied the economic crisis years ago, but he, apparently, was no in position to talk. Apparently.

"Then there's this young woman, Blair Willow, Seven, Lifeguard," Sophia replied. "I have to be honest—I did want to draw one province at random. I did a few tries on all of them, but I didn't get anyone interesting. When I got to Clermont, I got her, and I think she sounds good. She is currently aiming to become a beach manager, and I think as lifeguard, she must have good view on risks and so on." Sophia paused, looking at her brothers.

All of them seemed to have the same mindset; selecting at random didn't sound like the ideal answer… Sure, Sophia probably had waited for the security checks and all, but still… Leaving such an important matter to chance? Louis shook his head.

"If anyone complains, we can be honest for one province?" Sophia suggested with a slight smile. "Okay?"

Xander sighed. "Alright. She's in."

He didn't even bother to read the file, but looking back, Louis had nothing to complain about this aspect; he hadn't read it either. He missed the intelligence's warning about the mysterious breakup with her boyfriend, or the background of caste change that Blair Willow had.

"Then, I was considering Ami Kennedy. A Two from Baffin and snowboarder. Her father is a CEO, her mother a former model-turned-socialite, and her sister is an acclaimed skier. She stayed in different provinces during the Unrest, and I think that she would be an interesting case to include," Xander introduced.

"Why?" Louis questioned.

"Most Twos are either politicians, state-employed officers such as military, police or firefighters, or celebrities who bought their way up as far as possible. Her father is a Three, but bought his wife who was a model and his daughters up. Now, I think that Ami Kennedy is an interesting case since she is more of a mediocre snowboarder. She isn't an Olympic athlete and not intending to inherit her father's position either; she is fairly normal."

"I don't know her," Sophia remarked. "So, no socialite either. I agree. It'd show that Twos aren't always either soldiers or celebrities."

"Any objections?" Xander looked to Ernest and Louis.

Obviously, there wasn't anything. Even though it _should_ be common knowledge that Twos were more than just celebrities and soldiers, most lower classes probably didn't perceive them as such. Louis nodded bitter; it was sad that Xander's point was so true.

"I mean, sure, but wasn't there anyone more interesting from Baffin?" Ernest questioned. "She looks good but…"

Sophia eyed him. "It's not about appearance, Ernest."

"Yeah, and that's why you totally don't have a walk-in closet."

"That is not the point!"

"Well, theoretically, it is," Ernest debated. "You claim that 'It's not about appearance!" but here you are, sitting in a designer dress made for you with some random brand pumps while some poor girls in Sumner dream about looking like a princess, but can't because the whole province is destroyed. And knowing teenage kids, they probably spend money they should use on food on clothes to look like celebrities."

Sophia looked down. "I—" She broke off.

Louis leaned back. "And what? Then they are so stupid. That is what natural selection is, Ernest."

"Are you comparing poverty and destruction from a war and wrong role models to biology, Louis?!" Ernest exclaimed.

"Yes," Louis nodded. "I am. If they're so stupid to care more about how they look, then it's their own problem. Sophia really shouldn't feel guilty about her clothes and taste. If you're complaining about finances, I'm sorry but Xander is already taking away so much money from our _private_ household. Stop complaining."

Xander nodded. "Yes, we can discuss this another time. There are still over ten provinces to go." He opened another file. "Another scientist." He pushed the file towards Louis.

"Euphrosyne Antiope Tillings, Three, from Sota," Louis read out.

"Euro what?" Ernest repeated. "What illness is that?"

"It's a name," Louis replied. "To be exact, it's Greek. If you actually ever picked up a book, you would know."

"I do read," Ernest insisted with furrowed brows. "How else would I have spent ten years in the middle of nowhere."

"It wasn't the middle of nowhere," Xander pointed out.

"Please, people didn't even recognise me when I pointed out that people thought I looked similar to Prince Ernest."

"You've extragerating," Sophia laughed out.

"Where's Jonathan, by the way?" Ernest added bitter.

"At work," Xander replied. "He doesn't have much to do with the Selection. I need him in the military."

"As you do."

"I consider making sure that the country is safe and working on more important than the Selection," Xander replied.

Louis harrumphed. "Would you mind to pay attention?" he asked, trying to be polite as much as he could. There wasn't much patience left. "What are Euphorosyne's strengths?"

"Another prodigy. She's eighteen, but next to studying also working at a laboratory. Similar to Collins and Phillips."

"Also I-TEC?"

"No, not this one."

"Anything else?"

"Likes books, again, and excellent grades. Good family as well, I suppose. Sister of some dead model."

"Sounds boring to me," Ernest complained.

"Sounds good to me," Louis spoke, ignoring Ernest. "I wouldn't add any more scientists though. It'll look too similar."

"I agree," Sophia nodded. "What about Angeles? Most upper class has left Angeles during the Unrest—you looked at Angeles, didn't you, Xander?"

"Before we do the next," Ernest spoke up, "can we go and eat something? I'm sorry, but I am freaking hungry. I don't know about you all, but… yeah. Food."

"I'm in," Sophia nodded. "We all need to eat. It's about time either way, I'll have the staff prepare it in fifteen minutes," she decided. "I'll see you all in the dining room?"

All of them agreed. Fortunately. Louis sighed, and eyed the folders one more time. With all these horse lovers, he wasn't going to be able to just hide in the stalls. With the book lovers, the library was a dangerous territory, too.

So he really was caught in his own home…

Maybe Helena would offer refuge?

/ / /

 **Some mountain nearby Woodsten, Baffin  
Ami Kennedy**

"Woooh!"

Ami's snowboard edged, and in a matter of seconds, she turned from one side to the other. She put pressure onto her left food, and the black board stopped completely in the white, almost untouched snow.

It was cold. Like, very, very cold, and Ami definitely wasn't that much of a fan of that, but in exchange for the snow? She absolutely didn't mind it. The whole route she was going down (well, it wasn't an official route…) was empty, save for the occasional tree or wildlife.

It wasn't winter enough anymore for the whole day to be night time, but there was enough time spent in darkness that Ami was forced to use the few hours of light to practise. Going by the time, it was probably a good idea to move to Whites or so for more time of practise…

"The sun is setting…" Ami muttered, and pouted. The day had been good but freaking short. Maybe she was going to take her mother's offer to go to a province that had actual days… Her little sister was doing well outside Baffin, and her father worked abroad but…

"This is home," she muttered, before glancing at her watch. Yeah. She _definitely_ should be back before everything was dark. She had a tent on her but… coldness. Nothing she wanted to deal with particularly…

With a sigh, Ami let the snowboard slowly move. Within seconds though, she sped up—her red hair waving behind her—and began going down the slope. She lived nearby, but it still took her the whole time of the setting sun to reach the apartment she lived in.

She briefly greeted her neighbours before dumping the Snowboard into the shower to dry off the wet snow (followed by the whole rest of the mountain of clothes she had been wearing), before realising that that was actually a pretty stupid idea since she had to take a shower too.

"A bath then…" she decided, and opened the tab of the bathtub next to the shower.

The bath didn't last very long, though, because she knew that there was a skype call to take care of, and her mother would probably complain a bit about how she shouldn't sit in the living room with dripping wet hair.

Therefore, with freshly washed hair, a pyjama that didn't look too much like a pyjama and an apple in her hand, she sat down in front of her laptop and opened Skype. The last brief messages between her mother and Ami herself had been brief and fast. She was going to call her mother around right now.

So, Ami started the call.

"Hello," she waved into the camera of her laptop, recognising her stunning mother on the other side. She was a model coming from a family of Twos who married a successful CEO and re-bought herself the way up because why not? The same had happened with Ami and her younger sister, but neither of them did modelling.

Both of them were athletes, and pretty happy with that.

Also, both would probably run their father's company to death if tasked with running it. Too much energy and impulse was behind both of them.

"Good evening, darling," her mother greeted her. "How has your day been?"

"A few hours long," Ami joked, "But yeah, cool. I spent it snowboarding and reading."

"Has there been any news? Your dear sister went to her first training with the national junior team today."

Yeah, Ami thought bitter, her oh-so-perfect sister who just had won around about the double of competitions she had even participated in or so was in the national team. Juniors for now, but the rising star, and absolutely able to get further.

"Awesome," Ami muttered.

"And, have you thought about yesterday's _Report_?"

"The _Report_?" Ami repeated. "Oh, I didn't watch it."

Her mother sighed. Not particularly disappointed anymore, she was just used to it. "Of course, you didn't…"

The light on her side of the skype call changed, and Ami recognised her younger sister next to her mother. "Hey Ami!" she hummed, absolutely oblivious of the fact that she was, as always, overshadowing Ami in around about everything. Damn it, there really couldn't be anything she was good in, huh?

"Hey."

"So, are you going to sign up? Please tell me! I just read a magazine talking about Princess Sophia—the _Vogue_ with Alex Valentino? Did you read it? Oh, oh, and did you see the newest posts of Veira Schreave? She signed up too! Isn't that awesome? You could meet them!" she squealed.

Ami doubted that the _Vogue_ was even sold in Baffin. "Sure. Whoever that is." At least the name 'Schreave' rung a bell, even though she couldn't say why. Okay, and yeah, she knew who Sophia Illéa was.

"Sign up for what? A subscription of the Vogue? There's better stuff to put your money on, kiddo."

"Noooo! I mean, yeah, definitely, the Vogue is awesome, but I mean the Selection!"

"Selection? What's that?"

Yeah, that was where her history knowledge ended. At least the term rung a bell as well, but really, so many S-words? Terrible! Absolutely terrible, how in the world was she going to learn that by heart? No way!

"Oh my gosh, Ami!" Her sister sighed extravagantly, but as happy as always. Little damn sunshine who was better than her, _again_. "That's basic history! The Crown Prince is looking for a wife."

"… Oh, that thing? Yeah, sure, why not? How do I sign up? Online?"

Her sister shook her head. "All eligible women were sent letters."

"Okay, yeah, then it'll probably arrive on Monday or so. You know that the post isn't daily here. Way too cold and all."

"Oh, right… Wait, I send you a photo. Maybe there is a copy online… or you could go to the Province Services Office. They probably have some too."

"I'll google it. Anything else?"

"Well, I had my first training with the team today, and the coach said that I aced it! Isn't that awesome?"

"Yeah, absolutely," Ami replied dry. "Anything not skiing related?"

"Well, there is the new _Vogue_ and…"

"Honey, go and do your homework. I need to talk to Ami."

Thank god that her mother knew that she wasn't that interested in some random models. Too bad that 'I need to talk to Ami' also sounded way too serious for her taste as well. Okay, yeah, she probably knew what was coming—she needed to do something with her career, or she'd end up as snowboard coach which wasn't particularly what she wanted.

"Are you sure that you want to sign up for the Selection? Baffin isn't particularly populated and you might be the only Two applying, Ami," her mother reminded her. "I think that if you came to Whites, or maybe went abroad, you'd have much better chances to get somewhere. I see that the media attention might be helpful… but are you sure? You've done impulsive things before…"

Yeah, and her mother didn't even know _how_ impulsive, but hey, stuff had been fun until it hadn't.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Ami replied with a shrug.

"What do you even know about the royal family?"

A lot. "I mean, it's really cool that Prince Ernest and Princess Sophia are so engaged in philanthropy work, and I guess the country isn't falling apart under the Crown Prince's rule? Prince Ernest sounds fun, going by what my dearest sister has told me." Her mother missed the sarcasm.

"It is," her mother agreed. "I'm sure that it'll be fine…"

"You sound pretty, uh, unconvinced."

"Honey, I know that you aren't too happy with the royal family's government."

"They're fine, kinda."

"Just make sure no one suddenly thinks you're a rebel, alright? I heard about how they still find people… I'm just worried about you, love, because you sometimes say things before you think. Also, please don't swear so much, okay?"

"How's dad?"

"He is still in Beijing."

"When is he coming back?"

"Not until he has been to Berlin as well."

"Oh. Why Berlin and Beijing?"

"I'm not so sure about Beijing, but Germany is Europe's strongest economy. He has powerful friends there."

"Ah," Ami nodded disinterested. Whatever. She had no idea of economy. She knew as much as she knew Chinese. Which was zero.

"But, about the Selection, if you'll be selected, please make sure not to do anything impulsive, okay? I read the form's legal outline, and it states something along the lines of 'the Selected will not engage in any romantic relationship with anyone besides His Royal Highness', and this worries me a bit."

"… I thought the Selection was dating the Crown Prince?"

"There are three people in Illéa that would fit to that description, and a friend of mine who knows someone who knows someone believes that this is in connection to Prince Ernest. Just… you know, don't do anything illegal. I don't want you to get into trouble."

"Oh, yeah, sure, I won't. I promise."

Her mother sighed in disbelief.

/ / /

 **Ingrid "Kate" Katheryn Blanchard  
Blanchard's Home, Vale, Belcourt**

For mere seconds, Kate's eyes flew towards the timer on the edge of the screen before her eyes darted back to her Microsoft Word document that had been opened for at least three hours. Just that one sentence, she thought, while the spaghetti in the background were probably overcooking.

In her defence, this scene was important.

Or so.

It really was just fluff, so whatever.

"Kate, what's going on in the kitchen?" her mother called.

The word kitchen was relative—Kate hadn't exactly left the bunker beneath their house a lot, even when officially, the country was safe since _months_. Kate had seen it in _the Report_ , and therefore, it had to be true. Plus, she had seen the letter that her mother had horridly hidden between _Twilight_ and _Divergent_.

Ridiculous, Kate thought before her eyes darted back to the fluffy fanfiction on her screen. "Her head sunk on his chest. She could hear his strong, steady, quiet heartbeat. _Dumb dumb dumb_. I smiled. Yes, Jacob was mine, and I, Catherine Chardard, was his."

"Honey, please make sure you're not overcooking the food," her mother called from the stairs.

Kate sighed. The timer began beeping either way—her twenty minutes sprint was over and she probably had to eat either way. "Yes, yes," she muttered while saving (twice, just to be safe) the Twilight fanfiction featuring Jacob and a character created by herself. She took the spaghetti from the stove (they really weren't that bad) and mixed them with the tomato sauce next to it.

Her dear mother appeared in the door to the apartment studio beneath their home. "Okay, are you good for the evening?" she worried.

Kate gave her a bright smile, "I am!" she hummed.

Her mother didn't question why, for once, her daughter begged to be allowed to just go out and all. _It had been months_. While her mother disappeared upstairs (some work meeting or so…), Kate grinned. The spaghetti disappeared quickly in her stomach, and she fished the letter from the palace from between her mother's favourite books.

An hour later (Kate had to look up some information… What even was a social security number?), she proudly looked at her form. She, Ingrid Katheryn Blanchard was going to sign up for the Selection!

Well, if she found her way to the Province Service Office, that was…

But for that, Kate had used Google Maps when her mother hadn't looked (which was rare enough; usually, almost everything but the fanfiction website Kate had _begged_ for was blocked for her) to figure out how she was going to get there. She grabbed her shoes (the only pair she had, it came from her mum—she hadn't been out in ages, not even for her father's and brother's funeral (if it hadn't been for that, maybe she would be allowed to go out?), maybe they were just her mum's shoes, but they did fit here!) and headed out up the stairs.

The closest Province Service Office was, going by Google Maps, thirty-two minutes of car ride away. Surely, she'd be able to make it that quickly!

… Thirty-two minutes later, Kate realised that she couldn't run on the speed of a car for even a minute.

… Two hours later, she reached the Province Services Office just mere seconds before its closing time.

"Gosh, girl, are you alright?" the worker (who was about to close the door) asked.

"This… is… the… province… service… office… isn't…it?" Kate asked, forcing a smile.

"Uh, yes?" The worker blinked in confusion. "We're closing though…"

"Nooo!" Kate called out. "Can you please, please, please just give me five minutes? I've run all the way from home and that was two hours ago!"

"Two… kiddo, you know that there is a bus, don't you?" the worker asked stunned. "… Alright. Okay. Come in. Five minutes, nothing more. I don't want to be at fault if you get hurt…"

"Thank you!" Kate proceeded to hug the stranger, like she always did with her mum who most certainly encouraged her. The stranger seemed dumbfounded, for some strange reason. "What do you need?"

"Your form, I guess," the worker muttered, already regretting his decision. "Just sign here… and here… read this and write your name here."

She did as told (although she didn't read the two pages of text, too much for her exhausted mind), and smiled. "Awesome!" Kate cheered. "Anything else?"

"No… but, where do you live? Maybe one of us can take you closer home…" Kate named her address, but the worker shook his head. "That's way too upper class for me," the Six laughed. "Sorry, but I don't think any of us poor Sixes could afford to live there."

Kate nodded, not processing the information. "So, when does the Selection happen?"

"Not until April, I think," the worker replied. "You'll see it on _the Report_."

And with that, after running here for two hours, she was pushed out five minutes after arriving. Back on the street, Kate sighed. Oh welp. She was going to need to run back the whole way. A brief glance onto her Google Maps print out reminded her that this was already the shortest way, but bus?

Sounded like a good idea.

But there was none, since Kate had no money on her.

"Young madam," someone suddenly said. An elderly man, in front of his car. "Can I help you? Do you need a ride?"

"Oh, that would be awesome!" Kate cheered. She repeated her address. "That's where I gotta go."

The old man smiled. "Of course, jump in."

The older man (whose name was never mentioned) turned out to be a pleasant conversation partner (well, he listened to Kate ranting about how Bella from Twilight should have chosen Jacob over Edward, so passable) and drove her up to her house. Once she could see it (wow… it really had changed in these seven years…), she smiled and opened the door. As the car was driving.

"Hey, you can't just—"

She didn't listen; Kate just jumped out of the car (somewhat clumsily, but hey, she didn't fall!), and ran over the street (ignoring the cars passing by) to get to her home, and for a few seconds, she waved to the car.

"Thank you, mister!"

She overheard the taxi driver's demand for payment and quickly rushed through the door she had left open and since her mum wasn't going to be back until later and—

" _Ingrid Katheryn Blanchard!_ " Her mother sounded like she had just left a burning house while still reading a book. "Where in the world have you been, honey?!"

"… Uh, out—"

"Don't you know how dangerous it is? There are still rebels outside, honey, you could have been _killed_ and I wouldn't even have known where you were, and think of your father and brother, and—"

As much as Kate didn't like her mother for her protectiveness, she sighed. The argument that the Great Unrest was over since months didn't work. The fact that she was eighteen didn't either. There she stood, listening to half an hour-long rant about how there were still rebel sightings in Belcourt.

There were, but there were also burglars and robbers, and any other people. See _Twilight_ —the amazing Bella Swan had to be saved by good old Edward (really, why had she chosen him? Why? Jacob was such a better choice!) so if it went by her mother's theory, there was no way she'd ever be safe to go out!

Besides, she was going to be fine.

Her Knight in Shining Armour would come and save her.

Thinking of it, she thought back to the Report. Who would be the two love interests fighting for her? She didn't know. The Crown Prince probably was one of them, going by the logic. Maybe, despite his dedication to the country, he secretly didn't want the heritage he had? Oh, that'd be an interesting plot, but nah.

Maybe he did want it, but didn't know what to do? Maybe he needed something—someone!—else in his life? But who would be the other choice? One of his brothers? Prince Ernest and Prince Louis both didn't look bad, and Prince Ernest did, just like Princess Sophia (definitely the best friend, by the way), some charity work and all, but neither seemed like a good choice. Besides, this wasn't _Red Queen_ … or was it?

Did that mean that Prince Ernest intended to take over the throne from Crown Prince Xander? She personally had been Team Maven… Well, until Cal turned out to be actually cool. But still, he hadn't been as good as Jacob. He'd always have her heart.

Thinking of that, she really wanted to work on her fanfiction…

"Are you listening Katy?"

"Yes, of course!" Kate forced a smile.

"Where have you even been? You've never done that, love."

"The Province Service Office. I applied for the Selection!"

Cue yet another discussion by helicopter parent number one. But hey, at least she still was an absolutely normal cool girl who everyone would love if they had just the chance to meet her. She was ready for the Selection! Absolutely! She totally had an idea of how the world outside the family's bunker worked!

Or so.

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **There's the second part of the mega chapter. I'm trying to update every week from now on, but in exchange, the chapters will be shorter. The general census appears to be 3k 6k, hence the decision.**

 **I needed some foreign economic powerhouse, and my decision to go with Germany is merely based on the fact that it is, as of now, Europe's largest economy, and I know most about it, so I'll be able to write German people visiting Illéa for politics best. Hi foreshadow, I'm a very good writer am I not.**

 **Next Chapter:** »Just a few memes on Instagram«

* * *

 **Now, importantly:**

Please do refer to my profile for this; you'll find a link to the project there.

In connection to the plot, there is an interactive opportunity where I hope that you'd be interested in joining for the story: planning one of four events. It's set when the girls arrive at the Palace (after the training month), and essentially, the girls are organizing the visit of Italian royals. Following is part (but not all!) of the brief. There are three possible projects: reception, sightseeing with the two Italian princes, charity work with the Italian Queen and a final ball.

Early on, the Selected are to be split into four groups and each given a task / event to organise. If you decide that you would like to contribute, you and your group are free to plan the event you are assigned (you all get to list your preferences, and I'll assign based on them). What you do it completely up to you, as long as it's within the range of reason. If you have no time to contribute, please just tell me so I can take that into concern. To some degree, I'd like to see who has stayed with the story until now and to check if people have become inactive, since I will need a bit more contribution later on, and don't particularly want to chase after everyone and get no response.

I hope you all will enjoy this idea-I stole it from a German SYOC and when we did it there, it was really fun to plan together! I recommend joining our Discord server as always, it's linked on my profile. If you have problems getting in, feel free to message me!


	11. Chapter 10

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, the siblings continued to select the Selected that would compete for Xander's heart. Despite going more swiftly than before, some questions remain. Now, on the first day of March, the thirty-five Selected have arrived, believing that it is merely a lady-in-waiting training._

 **Chapter 10**

»Just a few memes on Instagram«

 **Los Angeles International Airport, Angeles  
Veira Schreave**

A gentle nudge by the flight attendant wasn't enough to wake Veira up. Only when she clumsily shook the lady's shoulders, Veira opened her left eye confused. They had arrived. In the small timespan between the announcement that they would be landing and now, Veira had fallen asleep again.

In her defence, it was seven o'clock in the morning, and she hadn't slept all night or day.

Veira politely thanked the attendant and grabbed her bag to exit the private airplane, following her uncle, Phineas Schreave, who was in Angeles to attend a meeting. Most of the plane ride, Veira had spent sleeping, but she couldn't help but still feel incredibly tired.

"Maybe these twenty-four hours of meeting friends weren't the best idea after all?" she asked herself while slowly descending the stairs from the white plane. The sun in Angeles sky was already warm, even though she had been briefly watching the sunrise from the plane.

"Veira, dear!" The bright voice from Sophia Illéa pulled her out of her sleepy mindset though.

"Good morning," she replied to her old friend, and briefly curtsied to the princess. Sophia had promised to come and greet her when she would arrive in Los Angeles; she claimed that she needed a distraction from the stress of all the last weeks of preparation for the Selection. Understandable, Veira thought. Briefly, Veira said her good-bye to her uncle, who however had to hurry to the Illéa Palace.

"How have you been?" Sophia asked curious while they walked towards the car in which Sophia had probably also arrived.

"Good," Veira replied with a smile. "I spend the whole day yesterday with friends—have you heard that…"

Within the span of two minutes, the two friends trailed into gossip about this and that that happened in Waverly since Sophia last had been there. They discussed a few friends, the newest gossip, and, of course, the newest styles.

Veira knew that she wasn't heading to a lady-in-waiting training—she had only heard of this a few days ago—but she didn't mind. The month sounded like a sweet holiday with Sophia and new people to meet, and curious about the Selection as she was, she soon began learning about all the things that the princess was planning for their stay at Hill Castle, which was an hour away from the central city of Los Angeles.

It was going to be a very long day for Sophia (who had been awake since two hours and already was drinking her second coffee), but Veira was glad to be able to confirm that besides some brief mandatory things, there wasn't much to do for her.

"Meet the girls" seemed to be Sophia's favourite suggestion which she repeated when they arrived at Hill Castle. The white building was built into the Sespe Condor Sanctuary nearby a lake and secluded from Los Angeles itself; the perfect location in Sophia's opinion to keep the press away, and Veira agreed. Plus, it was large enough to host thirty-five girls plus staff and two royal residents. The only other royal residence that could do that was the Illéa Palace.

"The other girls will arrive by caste in most cases. We have a bit of a triage process to judge whenever there are medical issues, and all, so the easier cases are taken off first, before we go on with others," Sophia replied.

"Easier cases?" Veira repeated. She stopped walking up the stairs to the castle, and turned to her friend. "What do you mean?"

"It's more likely that girls of higher castes have no medical issues and all. It'll go faster, and our teams can focus on the more serious cases first," Sophia replied. "Are you alright? Did you drink enough? You look pale…"

Oh yes, Veira did look pale, but she quickly overplayed that with a bubbly smile. "Don't worry, dear," she insisted. "I am just a little bit nervous about meeting so many new people."

"Oh, some won't be new," Sophia assured. "Leila Sinclair, you know her, don't you? I think you'll probably be able to stick around people you already know. Do you know the Tailors? The hotel chain? Harriet Tailor is coming."

Relieved, Veira nodded. "That sounds reassuring, thank you. What did you mean with castes though?"

"We have one One, you, nine Twos, nine Threes, six Fours, three Fives, three Sixes and three Sevens, as well as one Eight. Well, four Sevens by law, but yeah. One Eight, de facto," Sophia replied, counting down the castes with her fingers. "At the moment, at least. Nothing is set until the public announcement, of course."

"Eight? Isn't that dangerous? What if she is a criminal?" Veira was horrified. How could Sophia have overlooked such a possibility?

Sophia shook her head. "She's a veteran who lost her legs during a mission. She'd be a Seven otherwise, or still in the military and thus a Two. She isn't homeless either, and lives with her family."

"Oh…" Veira nodded. "That's sad."

"I know," Sophia sighed. "But oh well, I won't start today in melancholy!" she cheered. "It'll be fine, I'm sure."

She guided Veira into the entrance hall and on to a larger room that, going by its looks, probably once had been a ball room. Right now though, it was filled with a mix of various people—too many for her to gasp at once. Veira yawned.

"I'll leave you with the staff here, alright? I need to oversee the girls' arrival and all."

"Have fun," Veira replied and turned to the approaching young woman. "Hello," she greeted her. "It's nice to meet you."

"Lady Veira Schreave, am I right?"

"Yes."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm not sure what Her Royal Highness has told you, but we're doing some form of triage process to make the work of the staff easier. It's a mix of education, medical wellbeing and looks. We're starting with the last, but I've seen your Instagram, so I don't doubt that that'll be a big problem."

Veira forced a smile. "Alright."

The stranger led her on to a chair that looked a lot like a hair dresser's, and began with her work. She asked Veira for her sizes for clothes first, mentioning that she expected there to be cases where they needed to measure that, but considering how often Veira went out shopping, she was all too well aware of her size. Discussing Veira's style—she had been told by Sophia before that the girls wouldn't be able to bring too much to the Illéa Palace, including clothes—didn't take much more time, and Veira soon was assured that she wouldn't miss her closet.

The blonde lady wasn't so sure about that.

"I love your hairdo," the stylist remarked when she began opening the bun that Veira had been wearing during the flight, "but I need to destroy it, sorry. I don't think you'll want to change anything…?"

Did she want to change something? Such a good question, she hadn't been at a hair dresser's in forever… Was there anything she wanted to do? Her hair wasn't the thing she looked at most, even though she liked it more than other things, but a change didn't sound bad.

"Actually," Veira spoke up, "what do you think? What would fit me?"

"Your hair is pretty thin," the stylist pointed out. "What's your routine? I like the cut in its basics, though."

For a few minutes, Veira and the stylist conversed about her hairstyle, but there wasn't a particular reason why her hair was so thin, so the stylist pushed it onto either nutrition or gens.

"Maybe an ombre? We probably would have the time to do it now…"

Veira yawned. "What colour?"

"Brownish? Maybe not, just darker blonde? I think it'd fit you. Did you sleep enough, dearie?"

"Uhm…" Veira paused. "I usually sleep during the day…"

The stylist laughed. "Understandable, but sure. I'll mark it down, and write a note for the med team to check whenever you might be lacking vitamins or so. Your hand please?"

Round about exactly the same happened with Veira's nails who were quite brittle in the stylist's opinion, so she ended up with a note for treatment for them as well. Another note onto the board on which Veira noted her name and 'Waverly', and another chill down her spine.

"Sweet," the stylist ended once she had gone down anything she needed to look at. By now, the background chattering had grown a bit louder. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes," Veira replied while glancing at her (alright, quite a bit brittle) nails.

"Next up is a brief education test, but please don't worry about it," the stylist assured. "Apparently, Prince Ernest dared Princess Sophia to take it, and neither of them has results that you would have expected. It doesn't really matter either way; this is to help you all."

Veira rose with her hands folded in front of her. "Thank you," she replied, and turned into the direction, the stylist pointed to. She rushed towards the second part, but she certainly took her time with the test when she arrived.

/ / /

 **Interior of Hill Castle, Angeles  
Harriet Tailor**

Harriet Tailor, the hotel heiress (as Sophia had called her earlier), arrived thirty-five minutes after Veira, and therefore didn't catch her. As she was guided in—unlike Veira, not by the princess but by the footman that had picked her up from the airport—she recognised quite a few women of the Illéan upper class. She also heard one asking for a rainbow-coloured pixie cut, but she wasn't sure if she wasn't going to be thrown out immediately afterwards.

Harriet knew them, but at the same time, she wasn't a socialite. She meant business.

She was introduced to a stylist as well, but paid much less attention than Veira did before. She was much more curious about the 'test' that she had been told earlier. Turns out that it was essentially an exam of various school topics (noticeably lacking subjects such as art or biology, but why would you need that?), current international politics and generally things, she would have expected.

Particularly the mathematics part, Harriet believed to have aced.

The final aspect of the 'triage' process, the medical examination, found nothing wrong with her, but once again, she hadn't exactly expected it. Harriet maybe was a Four on paper, but de facto? She was a Two, with all that came with it.

"Thank you very much," the doctor told her when he finished scribbling the unreadable note onto the clipboard. "That is all." He added a brief direction on where Harriet was asked to go, noticeably much politer than the staff initially had been.

Not that they hadn't, but while before, she had felt like an employee, it sounded like she was the boss now. _Definitely more adequate_ , she thought, and walked out of the (probably not originally meant to be) examination room.

Following a brief hair stylizing and manicure that Harriet, being the lady she was, didn't mind, she was led to one of the apartments of the palace, was told that her suitcase had already arrived and that she was free to do whatever she wanted for the rest of the day.

Harriet was also given a map of the castle, and honestly? She didn't mind that at all.

Not that she'd ever tell anyone.

Her inner monologue was interrupted by someone bumping into her side when she was looking around in the marble hallway nearby one of the crystal-clear windows that showed the large garden.

"Oh, sorry," the brunette briefly looked up from her phone, but her eyes went down immediately. The baseball cap followed her motion, hiding most of her face. Going by the looks of it, she already had been through the same process as Harriet had been.

Despite the short time phase, Harriet recognised the piercing ice blue eyes from the February Vogue. She enjoyed following the recent fashion trends, and the Vogue was most certainly one of the sources she enjoyed reading most. The woman who had bumped into her was Alessandra Valentino. Affectionately known as Alex by most of the model's fans.

"Good day," Harriet replied. "So, you're here for the lady-in-waiting programme too?" she asked.

"Oh," Alex nodded slightly distracted, "yeah, I am. … Sorry for running into you, you look a lot like that woman who picked me up from the airport, you know."

"I'm not," Harriet assured her immediately while hiding any reaction to the indirect insult. "Harriet Tailor, nice to meet you."

"Alex, hi," Alex replied. She dropped her phone into the pocket of her jeans. They were ripped, Harriet noted. "So, what'cha doing here?"

"… I am here for exactly the same as you are."

"Ooooh!" Alex nodded quickly, her Spanish accent flowing in naturally. "I see what you mean."

Alex looked at her, as if she was expecting an answer, but honestly? Harriet wasn't completely sure what to respond. She kept a polite smile—just like she did when dealing with her father's terribly smelling co-workers—but looked for anything to say. Alex was a model, but wasn't her father the CEO of an oil company?

… On a second look, she didn't look like someone who cared about economy or business.

"What are you reading? On your phone, I mean?"

"Oh, that?" Alex showed her the phone, display a yellow-ish creature with open mouth and the caption "me: I don't need to listen in class / also me: *pulls all-nighter, revising content of a whole year*".

"Oh," Harriet replied, her face mimicking the yellow-ish creature.

"Just a few memes on Instagram," Alex replied.

"Ah." Harriet nodded. Not exactly the topic for a lady to consider, she decided for herself. Good to know that Alex was _that kind_ of Two. No one she should mix with, right? Even if Alex' family had some form of influence and wealth. But 'memes'?

Above her social class, absolutely, Harriet reminded herself.

"Well," She forced a smile over her disdain for the situation, "I will be off. I will see you around, I assume."

Alex shrugged. "Go for it, girl."

Harriet increased the peace of her step to get away from Alex and the thoughts that accompanied her immediately. She had seen the gardens now from the window and decided that they would be a decent place to spend her time, for now.

She slowly walked down the stairs into the garden, past the pine where a gardener was cleaning up pine cones, that was filled with neatly kept, past the peach-coloured roses and Californian poppies. The civil war raging in her home province had taken much of her interest in flowers, but she couldn't help but notice that the garden was just as well kept as the seven-star hotel of her family on Hawaii. Maybe the venus fly traps were a little bit out of place but well… not everyone had the same taste.

"It's nice here," she muttered to herself before taking a seat on a park bench, careful to place her legs next to each other, as it was adequate for a lady. She took her phone and sighed. Her father hadn't responded to her recent message informing him, yet. It wasn't on purpose—she knew that, but she suspected that he wanted to know his daughter to be safe, after Jack, her twin brother, had been drafted into the war. Jack was still missing and presumed death.

She dialed her father's number, and he answered after three rings. "Tailor?"

"Hey dad, it's me," she replied with a softer voice than she had used when talking to Alex. "I wanted to talk to you since I'm going to be off the net for a while."

"Off the net?" He hadn't read her message, huh?

"I'm doing a thing in Angeles."

"When?"

"Now, I arrived two to three hours ago."

"Did you?" her father asked. "What is this for?"

"I scanned a copy of the contract and emailed it to you. It's a bit secrecy around it though, so please don't share it. It's related to the Selection."

Her father sighed. "Harriet, I told you that you shouldn't risk your career on this."

"Well, I'm not in the Selection?" Harriet tried awkwardly. "I'll be fine dad, okay? I just wanted you to know. I'm a grown up, and this is a bit of a vacation, you know? It's weird to go to a hotel for vacation if you are the daughter of everyone's boss…"

Her father _had_ _to_ admit that that was true. "It's fine, love, just… you know, stay safe," her father replied wary.

"I will, dad, I promise," she insisted. "So…" What was she going to say now? Her father accepted her decision, fortunately, but he wasn't going to be less happy about this. Still, Harriet wasn't too happy that her oh-so-dear step-mother hadn't passed on the message… Gold-diggers, huh?

"I need to go and meet someone to discuss the project to bridge the time until the central Washington hotel has been rebuilt. Did you organise someone to take your work?"

"Yes," Harriet assured him. "I have two people for it."

"Awesome, that's my girl. Good luck, but stay in contact, okay?"

Harriet nodded. "As much as I can. See you dad."

"Be careful."

Be careful, be careful. Yeah, she had gotten that message, but she couldn't help but feel bad about it. What would life be like if Jack hadn't been drafted, or if he had tried to pay his way out? He hadn't, because he was worried about possible scandals (that already had happened by then…) but now that she knew, she couldn't help but think that he should have.

Harriet rose and looked into the distance, noticing two women standing nearby the stairs. If she was going to mingle around, then she probably should make friends, but of course, she reminded herself, a lady like her wasn't going to waste her time around Sixes. Absolutely not.

The two girls looked like acceptable presence, but they also looked like they were already in the middle of a larger conversation, so she decided that there wasn't a particular reason for her to talk to these ladies just yet.

She had a whole day to spend. Of course, they'd need to organise the arrivals, but she couldn't help but think that there should have been a better way to organise this all. With a shrug, Harriet began walking away from the bench. Maybe the garden would bear something interesting.

/ / /

* * *

 **Author's Note**

 **Appreciate Abi, the beta reader.**

 **Two things, besides yay, the girls finally arrived:**

 **a) Each of the girls is allowed to invite one relative / friend / ... to the King's birthday ball-who does your OC invite? If I don't get a response from you to this and don't have anything from myself (which, at the moment, is no one), your OC is likely not getting any scene. Your character does NOT need to invite anyone, but please still tell me that they wouldn't invite anyone.**

 **b) The groups for the project as are following:**

 **#1 The** **Reception:** Ami Kennedy (Berrybush123), _Sawyer Roth (OctaviaWithStarsForEyes), Isla Woodley (Cookiedoodles168), Tessa Evans (Smiley111), Cilla Chamberlain (ChillyIce)_

 **#2** **Sightseeing:** _Alex Valentino (Jcuret98), Leda Conner (Exotence), Irina Cavanah (Nikt Wazny), Rosy Tillings (Sabinethafangirl)_

 **#3 Philanthropy Work:** Rie Jespersen (Michelle The Editor), Jaira Phillips (Sylea), Leila Sinclair (mnbvcxz-xx), Deylin Reyes (sevenzeroseven)

 **#4 The Ball:** Veira Schreave (Abizeau), Kate Blanchard (SlytherWitch), Minnie Whitefield (Celegera123), Harriet Tailor (PrincessLillyCarter)

 **If you aren't in any group but interested and I somehow missed you, flick me a PM or just message someone of the group you want to join and go ahead! :)**

 **Names in _italics_ did not respond and might not be reading the story anymore. It might be that they don't have time, so if you try and contact them but cannot reach them, flick me a PM. Depending on how many people aren't showing up, we'll see.**

 **I'll check in with everyone once a week, but it'd be awesome if you could add me to any group chat you create. I'm open to joining any app, as long as I don't need to give out my phone number or real name. Feel free to just message everyone in your group and begin! :)**


	12. Chapter 11

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Veira Schreave and Harriet Tailor arrived in Angeles respectively. Harriet clashed with Alex Valentino, and figured out the situation with her father. Veira met up with her old friend Sophia and went through the stylist's questioning._

 **Chapter 11**

»Was he a ninja?«

 **Somewhere in (hopefully) Hill Castle, Angeles  
Nereida Statten**

After _finally_ getting out of the hair stylist's hands (the prospect of having the luxury of the Ones at hand was probably a bit too much for her in one day, but now she had reddish-brown hair instead of the usual black and it looked awesome), Nereida planned to look around on the palace grounds. Thank god that she had been given a map…

She had arrived in the late-ish afternoon, and by now, some of the lamps were glowing already. It didn't stop her from getting lost twice (and with there not being any visible staff—why?) she had to continue walking into nowhere until a guard informed her that she was getting off limits. That had been awkward (but hey, finally a human!), but after briefly regaining her sense of orientation, she was lost again.

"Welp."

She also had gotten herself into a dead-end (except for a big door that seemed to be locked—all others hadn't been; they had been wide open) and wasn't sure if she should try her luck and risk to run into another guard.

Thinking of it, running into another guard meant running into a human. That was better than being alone.

With that mindset, she stepped closer to the door and took the fancy door handle in her hand to open it. The dancer stopped, though. Not because she was worried about running into someone (never!), but because she was hearing voices that sounded like somebody was about to leave.

"It was nice to see you again," a calm, female voice assured.

"The pleasure was mine," a male replied. "If you excuse me, I have a plane to Paloma to catch tomorrow, and I'd like to use my free afternoon for myself."

"Of course, of course," the female replied with a hum. "See you later, darling."

The door opened, and Nereida stumbled back. "Oh, hi," she said before even recognising the person.

"Hey, Tiny," Oscar spoke, more surprised than anything else. He pushed the door behind him (and seemingly pushed one more time to make sure that the door was closed), and leaned against it. "What'cha doing here?"

Rather than responding, Nereida launched herself at Oscar for a hug. His questions could wait. "Oscar! I missed you, you know," she complained. "It's been so boring without you…"

Sure, she had her sister to entertain her but she really had missed the undivided attention of her boyfriend over the last months.

"I'm sorry, honey," Oscar replied and returned the hug. His head (why in the world did he have to be so much taller? No wonder he called her Tiny…) dropped onto hers. Even if he didn't say it outright, he missed her too, didn't he? "I had lots of stuff to do, and no reason to suddenly come to Bonita."

"So… what's the plan?"

"Yes, of course," Oscar nodded, and took her hand. "Let's not discuss that here though."

Even though Oscar briefly hesitated, he led her down the hallway and into a room that had been locked before. Oh well, screw the fact that she had been told not to go into rooms with closed doors except her own, huh?

"Where are we, by the way?"

"Hill Castle, the residence of the Queen Mother."

"I knew that," Nereida pouted. Okay, maybe not that the Queen Mother (who was that again?) lived here, or that that was the name of the place, but she did know that this was a castle! "I meant where in the castle are we?"

"Oh," Oscar nodded absentminded. "That way is towards the master part of the castle where the Queen Mother lives. This is just some random side room. I can point you the way if you need to, but I need to hurry. I am, officially, a guest of the Queen Mother and I just left her. It looks a bit weird if I just keep around, you know, and I need to… do some things." He sat down onto one of the chairs. "I'm sorry for being all over the place," he added, looking aside again. He hadn't exactly looked at her a lot… What if something was wrong? "There's some stuff going on…"

"What's up?"

"The plan is up," Oscar replied. "Because I'm still not sure if it's going to work."

So, it was something with her…? "Oh…"

"Let me think…" Oscar paused. "This is the Selection. Do you know that?"

"The Selection? I thought it was some lady-in-waiting thing?"

"That's the lie you all were told. I don't know when you will hear the truth, but… yeah, just so you know. This is, believe me, the easiest way, and the only one that'll work for 'the plan'."

"Does your family know the royal family?" Nereida asked surprised. He had indicated some things, sure, but why the Selection? The last time Nereida had heard anything about it was, besides the recent gossip and Oscar's letter, forever ago.

"Uh, sort of, it's a long story. I need you to stay in the Selection as long as possible until I figured some things out and… uh…" Someone walked past the half-open door.

"Hm?" Nereida tilted her head. "And what?"

"I need to go now, but we need to talk for longer. I'm not going to be in Angeles for most of the month, but… wait…" Oscar pulled his phone (one of these fancy touch ones that Nereida could never-ever afford) and pushed it into Nereida's hands. "The pass code is 01-02-24-00. I'll text you once I get my hands on a new phone, but for now, just play along. It'll probably be fun too."

"But what about… like… the Crown Prince?" She wasn't interested in him. She didn't even know how he looked like! All she wanted was Oscar, she didn't need more. Why be a One if she could be with him?

"I'll be back before the end of March. You won't meet him until then. I will…" he hesitated, and once again, looking aside. Why wasn't he looking at her? What was wrong? "I'll explain then."

Nereida opened her mouth, but looked down at herself. Now that Oscar had spend time in Angeles again, maybe he had met someone else and changed his mind? Maybe he was regretting asking her to come? Oscar came from the social elite, so he probably met lots of beautiful women… compared to her, a chubby cheeked tiny girl? She had no chance…

"Hey, Tiny? Are you alright?"

"What…?" Nereida looked up, into the eyes that she had fallen in love with so many years ago. "Yeah. Yeah…"

Oscar turned to her. "You don't look alright, honey…"

"I am, I am," she repeated, even less convinced. The fact that her lip was trembling probably didn't help in convincing him either.

Oscar rose and stepped closer to her one more time. He knelt down next to her. "Hey, Tiny? What's up?"

"I'm fine…" Nereida sobbed. She didn't want to cry—not in front of Oscar—but she couldn't stop. Why in the world couldn't she stop? This was pathetic. She was pathetic.

But just as always, Oscar pulled into a warm hug and began to quietly stroke through her long hair. Was he just pretending to be nice because he felt like he had to, or did he genuinely care for her? In the past he would have but now… now she had the competition of the social elite of Angeles, huh?

"I like the hair colour, by the way," he whispered. "It fits you."

"… Thank you."

"So, what's up?"

"Are you…" Nereida sobbed. "Aren't you… Aren't there so many better girls here?"

"In Hill Castle? Better than what?"

"Than me, of course… I've seen some of the girls, and they all look beautiful. And they know how society works and all, and… your family probably would like them much more than me…"

Oscar shook his head. "Absolutely no. You know, my grandmother was born as a Seven, and no one ever minded her. Plus, you're beautiful, talented and so sweet. I just need to catch a moment where stuff isn't going downhill twenty-four-seven and then I can explain."

"Hmm…?"

"It's… difficult, and I need time to explain it all."

Even though they had time now, Oscar didn't go on. He probably needed to explain _a lot_ , Nereida concluded. What was there to explain? Things that she didn't understand, maybe? More about why 'Oscar' wasn't his actual name? What was behind that?

Again, someone walked past the door. Oscar cursed quietly.

Nereida sat up and swiped the dears from her chubby cheeks. "What do you mean?"

"There's just so much stuff going on, and I'm worried that… things will come in between. I know that there are some issues but… I hope that I can resolve them, but I don't want you to worry about it, honey."

"Alright…?" Nereida nodded. That was sweet of him.

"Just, you know, stay in the Selection?" he laughed. "You'll be able to contact me… just don't do it too often, it'll wake suspicion."

Nereida nodded, a bright smile reappeared on her face. "Okay!"

"I need to go now, but I promise you, you're the only person I love. I'll text you once I'm home and get some stuff sorted out…" he sighed. "See you soon." He pressed a brief kiss against her forehead and rose.

/ / /

 **Hill Castle's Outdoor Pool, Angeles  
Blair Willow**

Having the pool was by far not as good as having the ocean next door, but at least, Blair could stay fit. It was dark outside, and the lamps were the only source of light by now—the skyline of Los Angeles was taking any chances of seeing the stars, but that wasn't that much unlike Blair's home in Clermont.

She had gotten out of the stylist's hands, which was nothing she minded per se, but after the flight and all, she had grown tired and nearly fell asleep when the stylist gave her highlights. However, now that she was free to do what she wanted until the girls would be served dinner, going by the sounds of it, she was alone.

Blair wasn't exactly sure on what exactly was happening. She had been given a paper that summarised it, but she had, once she dropped her stuff in her room, left it to look around. From the sounds of it, others had chosen to stay in their rooms, but she wanted to know how the place looked like. Apparently, they'd get more information tomorrow.

Apparently.

Maybe, she could go and swim a bit before dinner? She did have a swimsuit in her suitcase, didn't she? No one had told her that there was any rule against it, and being a lifeguard, it wasn't like she expected herself to drown anytime…

"Oh, there's a pool!" someone suddenly called out. "That's sweet… Oh. Wait. I should have brought my swimsuit..."

Blair turned around to see who was talking, and recognised a young girl of, so she presumed, New Asian descent standing at the top of the stairs. She skipped down the stairs, but stopped at a distance to Blair.

"Uh, hi," she added.

"Hello!" Blair replied and waved to her.

The other girl came closer. "I'm Nereida Statten, and you?" she looked fairly young—maybe seventeen?

"Blair Willow. Are you here for the lady-in-waiting programme as well?"

Nereida sat down next down next to her at the water's edge. "Kind of. Are you from Angeles?"

Blair shook her head. "Clermont. You?"

"Oh, I'm from Bonita," Nereida replied. "Do you like swimming?"

Blair hesitated with responding. "Yes, I do," she replied. "I live close to the beach."

"Oh, so do I!" Nereida smiled. "That's cool! I love swimming. Too bad that Hill Castle isn't close to the beach…"

"It is sad," Blair nodded. She looked at Nereida. Her choice of clothing wasn't outstanding—even Benjamin, her boyfriend, was surrounded by people with more fashionable taste, but looking at her hair colour, she couldn't help but think that Nereida had to be of upper castes. Her posture was very good too... If she was anything like the people around her home, then she'd probably look down on Blair because she was a seven…

Or was she? If she understood the outline of the programme correctly, wasn't she a Three?

"What do you work as?" she asked carefully.

"I'm a dancer," Nereida replied. "Until last February, I was mainly working in a theatre play that included ballet choreographies, but also in a dance studio nearby."

Dancing? So, she was a Five? Maybe that was where her posture came from? Five was better than Blair expected but… Blair knew Fives. She knew Sixes and Fours too. She knew how Threes behaved, and she had seen both sides. She had seen how it was as a Three, and she has seen how it was as a Seven.

"What about you?" Nereida asked, without a hint of worry about her caste.

"Uh, well…" This was a long story. "I'm working as a lifeguard right now, but yeah…"

"Yeah…? But what?"

"We used to be Threes, but we were downgraded."

"Why?" Nereida asked confused. "I've never heard of that."

"My mother refuses to give me more details, so I assume she must have done something… I'm not sure, though."

"Oh." Nereida shrugged. "Well, it must be awesome to be able to swim every day! I wish I had the time with all the practise…"

"… You're not being judgemental?" Blair asked surprised, before she even thought about what she said. "I'm sorry—but the last time I met with Fives from high school, they were rather… impolite."

"Impolite?" Nereida repeated. "I guess… Hmm… I didn't tend to mix with anyone but Fives and Threes working at the company so… Until Oscar, I never really thought about the caste system. I just never came to think of it."

"Oscar?"

"Yeah, he kind of dislikes it a lot…? Like, ridiculously much, if you think about it," Nereida replied while playing with the warm water in the pool.

"No—Who is Oscar?" Blair asked, furrowing her brows.

"Oh, my boyfriend."

Silence. She had one too? Blair rose an eyebrow, surprised but also not entirely sure what exactly she _should_ say. Hadn't they gotten into this through the Selection?

"… Ex-boyfriend," Nereida corrected herself with an awkward smile.

"So…" Blair muttered. "You have one too?" They were in the same situation then? Signing up for the money and caste.

"What? An ex?"

"No," Blair shook her heads and lowered her voice. "A secret boyfriend."

"Oh." Nereida blushed. "Uh, yeah. Oscar Wilde, a playwright who lived in my hometown during the later years of the Unrest when it got dangerous in Angeles."

Nereida pulled what seemed to be a smartphone—gosh, she hadn't seen them in forever, not even Ben used one—and began scrolling through images. "Let me see if I can find a photo of him…"

"How do you afford smartphones?" Blair blurted out.

"Oh, this is Oscar's phone. He gave it to me," Nereida replied.

"They're so expensive though!" Blair pointed out surprised. "He must be rich if he can afford to buy you one. Was that a birthday present?"

"Uh, no," Nereida shook her head, without a surprise or arrogance. How naïve, Blair thought surprised. Maybe that was because she was from Bonita, one of the provinces that had seen no rebel activity. "He just gave it to me."

"Wow…" Blair blinked. "I wish Ben could do that," she laughed. He couldn't, but she wasn't expecting that from him. Not when smartphone and modern computer technology was reserved for the absolute elite and expensive.

"Who is Ben?" Nereida asked curious.

"My 'ex'. He talked me into participating in the Selection for the money and caste. We kind of need it. When I was told that I'd be paid for this and would become a Three, I agreed to join the training. It's much less of a hassle either way, but I feel like I shouldn't be too obvious about it just yet. The messenger questioned me a bit too much on Ben so…"

"Training programme? Oh, right, the lie."

"Lie?"

"This is the Selection," Nereida revealed, blissfully unaware of the shock she gave Blair. "Huh? Why are you surprised? Why else would they do makeovers?"

"… Oh." Blair blinked. But wasn't the Selection going to start in a month or so? Wait… the program was meant to last a month and… oh. So, the royal family lied. Blair bit on her lip. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. "So, your boyfriend told you that too?"

"Yeah. I met him a while ago."

"A while?" Blair asked curious. "Before you came here?"

Nereida shook her head. "Maybe twenty minutes?"

Blair turned to her, suspicious. She had seen the royal guard in front of the castle, and she had noticed that their driver had to hand an ID. "How did he get in here?"

"He pretended to be a guest of the Queen Mother. "

"He sneaked into a royal residence just to see you?" Blair rose her voice in surprise. How would he do that? Was he a ninja? Maybe he was a ninja.

"Yeah."

" _Suuure_."

Nereida overlooked any sarcasm in Blair's voice. She seemed to be a very nice person, but Blair couldn't help but wonder how naïve she could be not to question Oscar's ability to get in. She seemed to be pretty bubbly too, considering the big smile on her lips and the cheerfulness in her voice.

"I mean, I think he actually met her. He comes from a good family," Nereida explained.

Blair wasn't convinced. "Which family? I know nothing 'bout tea parties among the elite. Never heard of anyone called Wilde."

"I don't know," Nereida replied with a shrug and smile. "Oscar isn't his real name."

If Blair had been drinking anything, this would be the point where she would have spit it out. " _What?_ What's his name then?"

"I don't know," Nereida hummed.

Correction. She'd do it here.

"Aha." Nereida was definitely a tiny little bit too naïve. "Where are you staying?"

"My room here?" Nereida asked. Blair nodded as response. "It's at the corner? Like, you have really good view onto the reserve behind the lake. It's beautiful!"

"You're lucky!" Blair sighed. "My view is… nah? Like, you can see the road leading here."

"Do you want me to show you my room? If we find the way back, it is…?"

"Sure." Blair nodded. "Why not? I don't mind. I think we're eating dinner alone, maybe we can ask to eat together?"

"That'd be awesome!" Nereida cheered.

/ / /

 **Next Chapter: "I'm also here for the food"**


	13. Chapter 12

**Fallout**

 _In the previous two chapters, we had the arrivals and first evening of four girls. Veira Schreave, the fashion icon and socialite greeted her childhood friend Sophia Illéa, where as Harriet Tailor, the hotel heiress, was finally able to contact her father. Nereida Statten, the naïve ballerina, met her boyfriend 'Oscar Wilde' who had somehow managed to sneak into Hill Castle and tell her that she was, in fact, in for the Selection. Blair Willow, the lifeguard with a secret boyfriend, ended up spilling her secret to Nereida after she mentioned her boyfriend. The two bounded over it, but Blair can't help but be suspicious of 'Oscar'._

 **Chapter 11**

»I'm also here for the food«

 **Grand Hall of Hill Castle, Angeles  
Pricilla "Cilla" Chamberlain**

For the past ten minutes, Cilla had been standing around in the grand hall alongside so many other girls. She had spent the day of her arrival asleep thanks to her far-too-early-in-her-taste flight. Fortunately, she had brought her guitar, and decided to spend most of the afternoon practising and writing songs.

She wasn't sure what she wanted to do with this month, but most certainly, she was planning to use it to write songs that were less dictated by the political situation but rather by what she wanted to express. Cilla looked around herself. Most girls seemed almost wary of others—why? This wasn't the Selection, so why did they freak out like this?

Maybe, because it still had importance?

Her agent had, particularly when she talked to him in the evening before she flew to Angeles, reminded her that a lady-in-waiting to the future queen was going to be a person the world watched, just like they'd do with the Selected.

Like Abby Moon, who was standing in front of them right now.

Had they all made friends already? In the excitement of coming to Angeles again (she hadn't been here in forever) had made her forget that she also probably would want to make friends, but then again, strangers were just friends she hadn't met yet, right?

The woman in front of them was introducing herself as part of the organisation team, and promised to introduce the others shortly. Lady Abby Moon, a popular (well, among the older generation) singer-songwriter and former Selected in the King's Selection. She was a close friend to the late queen and her lady-in-waiting for a long time. To bridge the time, she was taking a row, and once she finally reached the last girl, she gave everyone a smile.

"Good morning everyone," she greeted them. "My name is Abby Moon, and as I just mentioned, I am part of the organisation team. I am one of the people you can come to if you have any worries; I know this all, and your position, better than anyone else does," she encouraged them. "Apologies for some of your arrivals yesterday morning, but overall, I am glad to know that we managed to get through everyone. Thank you very much for your patience, everyone."

She paused for a moment, allowing the information to sink in.

"I'll begin with the most important thing for me—in case anyone noticed, from now on, you all, unless higher, are legally Threes. If you really don't want that, we can discuss it when you leave the programme. During your stay, you will be addressed as ladies, similar to how I am."

Apparently, some girls did not know, and freaked out. Cilla hadn't read the contract herself, but it didn't affect her either, so she didn't bother.

"There are a few girls who we would like to see a doctor to discuss a few things in the evening, but for now, you will finally get a tour around. From what I heard, some people already got lost." She chuckled. "Not that that would include me… totally not. You are quite a few people, so we will split up into groups of five. Following that, we are," she forced a smile, "going to get to know each other—you will spend time with everyone here, so you might as well learn everyone's names. I hope everyone has been given name tags this morning?"

Yes, they had bene. In fact, Cilla had been woken up by a young maid who explained in the evening before that during her stay, she would be in charge of assisting Cilla. The maid had been a darling, but she seemed to be quite inexperienced from the looks of it, and struggled with some of Cilla's instructions.

"Good to know. I hope that we got everyone's preferred name correctly, but if there's an issue, please tell the maid you have been assigned."

A round of 'alright', 'yes' and 'it's fine' echoed. Cilla herself had been given a name tag naming her as 'Pricilla "Cilla" Chamberlain', which surprised her. She had expected to be addressed as Pricilla, and not by her nickname. Not that she minded, she was just a bit surprised.

"This will take most of the morning, and we'll have lunch together in one of the dining rooms. As you will soon learn, there are different types of rooms for lunch and dinner; we usually only eat dinner together and you are free to form your own lunch groups, but from time to time, you'll be expected to join everyone for lunch. Today is such a day. We should have everyone's dietary requirements too, hopefully."

Cilla nodded. She didn't have any issue with most food, so she was going to be fine.

"After that, we will begin with a first lesson, and besides the ladies who need to see a doctor or stylist, you have a free afternoon. I hope this is alright with everyone; your maids have been informed of the programme; unless changes occur, you can go by that."

The groups were made by the alphabetic order of their home provinces, meaning that being from Carolina, Cilla was in the second group alongside four other girls. A Three, two other Twos and one Five, as it turned out. The Three and the Two seemed to be good friends already (with one of them having a very questionable outfit, being a sloth for some reason), so Cilla was stuck with the other two girls, Nereida Statten from Bonita, a Five, and Andreia Jensen from Calgary, a Two.

"What do you do for work?" Nereida (who had gone from a bit nervous to bubbly after introductions had been made) asked them.

"Police detective," Andreia replied. Both of the girls had a straight stature that Cilla noted immediately, but while Nereida's stature seemed elegant, Andreia reminded her of the military officers from the base nearby. Probably fit for her job.

"I'm a dancer," Nereida replied. "I do ballet."

"I'm a singer-songwriter," Cilla replied. "I released my debut album last year, actually."

"Did you? That's so cool!" Nereida called out. "What kind of music are you doing?"

"Country," Cilla replied. "Unfortunately, the album didn't do very well…"

"Oh, that's sad…" Nereida agreed, although her bubbly attitude didn't convey it completely. "So, we are we going first?"

Their assigned tour guide introduced herself as one of the staff members at Hill Castle and answered Nereida's question promptly. They were starting on another route than the first group to avoid clashes, and therefore started with the different floors.

Cilla realised that fortunately, they had name tags on the doors of their own floors.

"The rule from before still applies; doors that are closed are meant to be closed, you don't want to suddenly end up in the kitchen," their 'tour guide' explained. "If you'd like to use the kitchen, just ask first. There are quite a few people and Hill Castle has reached its maximum capacity, so everyone is stressed. If you don't ask, you'll probably cause more trouble than you want."

The sloth girl and her best friend weren't paying very much attention, but dismissed the comment with the comment that they didn't cook either. Well, nor did Cilla, but she was capable of making herself omelettes…

The entrance hall and ground floors (where their lessons were meant to be) were relatively boring to her, though; what really piqued Cilla's attention were the gardens and the mention that there was a stable with a few horses.

"There aren't as many as there are close to the Illéa Palace," their tour guide explained, "but there are three; all of them belong to the Queen Mother, but she doesn't mind guests to ride them since she doesn't ride anymore. If you're interested, just ask the staff there for more information."

"That sounds great," Cilla smiled.

"Do you ride?" Andreia asked, slightly surprised. Hey, she did come from Calgary which had a weird affiliation to cowboys, so maybe she liked horses too?

"No," Cilla shook her head, "but my family lives on pretty much a farm, and I love horses."

"That's sweet," Nereida agreed. She probably wouldn't be able to afford a horse, Cilla realised.

"Yeah," Cilla nodded. "Horses are great friends too."

"Then I'm sure you'll get along well with some people here," the butler chuckled.

"Hmm?" Cilla turned to the butler, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I usually work at the Illéa Palace, and there are a few people I know who would die for the horses there."

"Why are you here now? Why not at the Illéa Palace?" Andreia inquired. She crossed her arms curious.

The butler chuckled. "Well, more staff is needed here, obviously. From the rumours you hear, and you don't know this from me, the higher ups don't want to waste so much money on employing too much staff, much to Their Royal Highnesses' dismay."

Andreia frowned. "Should you really reveal that?" she questioned.

"Uh," the butler hesitated, "it'll be fine…"

"You are gossiping about your employers."

Cilla looked to the police detective. Andreia had a good point, but she was also curious about what exactly he was talking about. After all, they were meant to work with a soon-to-be member of the royal family… She was just curious, but Andreia had a logical point…

Was it bad that she still wanted to know more?

The butler cringed, and looked aside. "Well… Let's go to the next stop, the dining hall."

Next to Cilla, Andreia sighed disappointed. Why did Cilla have the feeling that Andreia would report this to the butler's boss?

/ / /

 **Grand Hall of Hill Castle, Angeles  
Deylin Reyes**

The castle was big, and most of the girls in Deylin's group were already confused. This was nothing like the small house she called her home, where her siblings and mother filled most of the space up already, and there was a gigantic mess that just couldn't be removed.

They weren't the first to return, but also not the last.

The woman that had greeted them, Abby Moon, wasn't in the room anymore, and once their tour guides had guided them back to the grand hall that, going by said tour guide, was used for balls and events hosted by members of the royal family. It certainly didn't look like certain video coverage on television, but that was probably the decoration and people in festive clothing.

Going by the size of the crowd, everyone had arrived. It surprised Deylin quite a bit that they seemed to be one girl from each province, but who knew, maybe this was just easier to organise for the organisation team?

Or maybe it was a test run for the Selection.

"Good morning everyone!"

The bright, loud voice of whoever spoke reached everyone in the room, and caused Deylin, among others, to turn around to the big stairs that apparently lead to some form of drawing room. Why it was called drawing room? Deylin had no idea. She hadn't seen any pens.

On the stairs, a group of a few adults stood. Among them was Abby, but central and, so Deylin presumed, the person who spoke hadn't been her; it was Princess Sophia whose orange-red skirt stood out from the white marble of the stairs.

"Would you please do me the favour and form a circle, so everyone can hear me equally? Thank you," she said with a smile. Both her hands were busy holding a pink bag, but something told Deylin that the only reason to exist for the bag was to occupy the princesses' hands.

The girls formed said circle hesitant (no one, including Deylin, had expected a member of the royal family to just walk in), and Sophia (followed by her team) joined them. Deylin noticed a few girls (now she presumed to be of upper-class background) curtsying, and clumsily mimicked the motion.

The princess maybe didn't wear a tiara, but something in her appearance reminded them that Sophia was indeed the daughter of the King. She looked around in the circle and smiled.

"Welcome everyone," she spoke. "Thank you everyone for coming here, I hope that you all had a good flight and sleep last night." Sophia didn't beat about the bush and immediately proceeded to swiftly repeat what Abby had told them before—today's outline. Abby's expression didn't change much, but just like Deylin, she seemed to be growing bored.

Understandable.

Sophia ended with an introduction of the present members of her team, including Abby again, who was acting as someone the girls could talk to, if Sophia wasn't around (which Deylin presumed to be a thing that occurred more than once).

"There is one more person I would like to introduce you to, but…" Sophia glanced at the small, silver watch on her left wrist and turned around herself. "It seems to be that she'll be here anytime…"

Indeed, as if on cue, a couple of straightforward steps echoed in the grand hall. Deylin followed most girls' eyes and saw the Queen Mother walk in. Going by what some of the girls in her group had pointed out, Hill Castle was her primary residence, but Deylin was still a bit perplexed: why would a woman who had been Queen of Illéa for many years waste her time on possible ladies-in-waiting?

Helena Illéa didn't acknowledge the girls' whispers, but walked to her granddaughter with a soft smile on her face. This time, Sophia curtsied to the queen, just like the organisation team and the girls Deylin presumed to be of the social elite. She mimicked the motion clumsily again.

If this was going to be a regular thing, she really needed to practise this…

"Good morning," the Queen Mother spoke. "I am glad to see that everyone has arrived by now."

By now? What did she refer to? Had some girls been deemed unfit and exchanged?

If it was the case, why hadn't they exchanged Deylin? She probably had failed that test worse than two-years-old would…

"Apologies for my lateness," Helena added. "Sophia, dear, have you introduced yourself? You have the nasty habit of forgetting that," she lectured her granddaughter, who blushed in return.

"Oh, no, I didn't," Sophia replied embarrassed. She turned back to the girls, but Deylin couldn't help but find it ridiculous. Who didn't know that the blonde in front of them was Illéa's princess? "My name is Sophia Illéa," the princess explained. "I am the head of the organisation, but due to my other duties, I will not always be present, which is why we have Abby here."

"So that's who you are!" someone commented nonetheless. Deylin couldn't figure out who had spoken up, but somewhere on one side, people laughed. Sophia didn't respond to this, she overlooked it, but instead proceeded to inform the girls about what exactly they would do in their lessons.

Some had to catch up on topics the tests had shown to be difficult (she mentioned history) as well as things about protocol and etiquette (she called it Protocol 101—how much was there?), planning stuff and what not. To be honest, Deylin's attention trailed off fairly quickly. Fidgeting with a JoJo was much more interesting.

"And for now," Sophia ended her explanation, "I want everyone to get to know each other well. I want people to know each other, and everyone to be included."

Helena sighed.

"That's why we're starting with ice breakers!"

Sophia was, well, evidently the most enthusiastic in the room. Most of the girls were probably still grasping the situation, but Deylin had gotten it. They were going to do ice breakers. _Ice breakers_.

She had expected many things, but certainly not that.

"Everyone ready?" she hummed. "I mean, there aren't really reasons against it, are there?"

"I have a heart condition," she blurted with a deadpanning expression. She therefore gained the attention of most of the other girls.

"I don't have legs," another girl added, in a similar, sarcastic tone.

A few girls laughed, before realising that she was serious. Deylin followed the voice, and saw another woman in their age. Unlike most girls, she wasn't standing in the circle but sitting—in a wheelchair. Deylin couldn't help but chuckle. She liked that girl _already_.

Sophia didn't show a hint of being bothered. "Don't worry," she promised. "That won't be an issue."

Going by the way she sounded, she either had known about that before, she didn't care or she was used to hiding emotions. Deylin had little idea about what the princess did from day to day life, so who was she to comment?

"I scrapped the idea of doing it in high heels and ball gowns," she added. "Thank my dear grandmother for that."

At least five girls in the circle cringed at the idea of doing icebreakers in _heels_ and _ball gowns_.

"I can assure you that I tried my best," Helena added, still visibly disappointed.

As if on cue (well, probably on cue), the girls were handed a piece of paper each. Deylin sighed, while each girl skimmed over the paper they were given, she, well, was busy with the headline. It was printed neatly on good paper, just like the letter that had arrived at home and the contract she had signed.

"Human… bingo," she eventually figured it out.

Deylin looked up, curious to see what the others were doing. Most girls had formed a few groups, or talked to the girls next to them. Deylin glanced to the girls by her sides—both of them were talking to other girls.

"I assume everyone here knows bingo?" Sophia asked. Much to her happiness, no one spoke up. "Great! We have thirty-eight people present, including myself, Her Majesty and Lady Moon. There are thirty-six statements on each of your paper's, and the goal is to write down a different name onto any of these fields. For example, there is a statement stating 'plays an instrument'. So, I would go around and ask if someone plays an instrument of any sorts."

Helena nodded. "For example, I do."

Even Deylin knew that. She remembered hearing that one of her friends had been able to attend the Queen Mother's series of concerts before the civil war, when they were younger. Before she married the late King Henry, she had been aiming to become a professional violinist.

"So, I would go to her, introduce myself and ask for her name," Sophia continued, "and then we'd have a brief chat on what I can check off. Any questions?"

Silence.

"Sweet, then let's start!" She clapped.

Much to Deylin's surprise—she expected a bit more hesitation at least—most girls began chatting to the girls next to her, or even walked through the circle to meet with other girls. As for herself, she was a tiny little bit lost.

"Hey, Heart Condition, why are you standing around doing nothing?" Towards her, the girl in the wheelchair rolled efficient and quickly, before stopping in front of her. Deylin noticed two names on the paper herself. Unlike her approach, Rie gave her a firm handshake.

"I have a name."

"Which is?"

"Deylin. Deylin Reyes," she replied. "You?"

"Rie Jespersen," the brunette replied quickly. "So, why aren't you collecting names?"

"I can't read," she blurted.

"What? Really?" Rie asked surprised.

"Just kidding," Deylin grimaced, "I can read. It's just damn hard. Dyslexia is nightmare, Rie."

Rie paused for a brief moment. "Well, I don't have legs, so I suppose, stuff happens."

That wasn't the expectation Deylin had as response. Most people felt insulted or similarly, but well, Rie did have a point with hers.

"Do you want help?" Rie then asked though. "With the reading stuff, I mean. Ain't gonna make a good impression if you don't have anything filled out."

As much as Deylin wanted to say no, Rie had a freaking good point. The contract had been for 'one month at a minimum', but there had been clauses that made Deylin believe that they were made to allow them to kick anyone out they didn't like.

"That'd be cool," she admitted.

"Okay, so, let's see…" Rie listed all thirty-six statements quickly.

"… That's a lot, and I don't remember anything."

"Let's work together," Rie decided, "I don't know what Android or iPhones are though. I think smartphones, but yeah, I don't have an idea on why I should choose one of them."

Deylin shrugged. "I don't know it either."

"I guess I can go with 'loves gardening'," Deylin remarked.

Rie nodded. "Alright, let's put that on both of ours. I enjoy cooking, so let's write that down as well. The sloth girl is left handed and her best friend apparently does a group sport."

"Cool. Do they have names?"

Rie laughed out. "Yeah, they do."

The two girls, having gained attention from others, were soon met with other girls, but they stayed together, fortunately. Deylin could read, but it took time, and with the speed of the girls coming closer and leaving, she was glad that Rie was efficiently writing down and talking to people. When the two girls had a brief break, the Queen Mother approached them. "Good morning," she told them. "I haven't spoken to you yet, I believe."

"Nope," Deylin shook her head. "I'm Deylin Reyes."

"Gabriella Jespersen." So Rie was a nickname? Oh, nice to know.

The Queen Mother smiled. "Helena," she replied. "Feel free to mark 'plays an instrument' for me, if you haven't done that yet."

"We have, actually," Deylin pointed out. "Rowan Johannson, a farmer who's taught herself piano basics."

"I'm glad to hear that I'll not be written down as that every single time," Helena chuckled. "What about being born in a different province than living in? I live in Angeles, but I wasn't born here."

"We don't have that yet," Rie nodded. "Noted down."

Helena smiled gladly. "I'm glad to hear that," she said. "Say, have you spoken to the doctor about prothesises?" she addressed Rie. "I am—"

" _I am fine_ ," Rie insisted, interrupting the Queen Mother before saying anything. "I'm fine, okay?"

The Queen Mother shook her head. "Believe me, you will want to be able to walk around. What about dancing, for example?"

" _I am fine_ ," Rie hissed.

Helena looked at her with disappointment. "I see," she decided to say.

Without a further word, the Queen Mother walked aside, leaving Deylin internally cringing. She didn't want to know what exactly was going on in the royal's head—she didn't look exactly happy. She was sure that it wasn't a good idea to interrupt the former Illéan queen…

"How are you doing?" Lady Abby Moon approached them with a much kinder smile than the Queen Mother had left with.

"We have…" Rie began counting quickly, "…eleven names by now."

"I'm glad to hear that you're doing well then," Abby replied. "May I know your names though?"

"Oh, right," Deylin nodded, and introduced herself and Rie next to her. Abby introduced herself again as well, and, to their surprise, noted down the names as well. So they were doing that too? She hadn't noticed Helena point it out.

"I most certainly have been on television," Abby assured.

"Check, then," Deylin announced. The lady left them with a smile, fortunately, and the girls went on with checking a few other girls' names and bingo fields. Too many people for Deylin to pay attention too—particularly when she wasn't exactly focused right now. It was probably thanks to that that by the time they reached twenty, other girls had already finished.

"We need to be faster," Rie insisted.

"I agree," Deylin added. Therefore, the next round of people went visibly faster, until the two were faced with yet another interruption. Looking back, it probably would have been intelligent to cut all conversations short if they wanted to win, but at least, they met people. That was the purpose of it all, but after realising that they probably had no shot on being among the fastest, she felt like they were slowly growing into the mindset of trying to be the last. Going by some of the girls talkative, though, she wasn't going to manage to get that without stopping to work. That, Rie refused to do.

"Hello!" a bright, high-pitched voice called to them. "Why are you sitting in a chair? Why does it have wheels?" The voice came from a tiny little blonde girl.

"Because I'm secretly powering the whole house with it," Rie replied sarcastic, before recognising that the person talking had been a little child, behind her. Swiftly, she turned around. "Hey, kiddo, what are you doing here?"

"Yes… I doubt you're in the programme…?"

"Annie, come back, I don't want to miss you," someone else called out. A blonde with shoulder-length hair approached them, calling out for the young girl, whose name apparently was Annie.

"Huh?" Deylin tilted her head. "Does she belong to you?"

The blonde looked to them disinterested, "Yes, Annie? Please come back to me."

Annie hummed a "Yes! Coming!"

"And you are?" Rie rose an eyebrow.

"Isla Woodley."

"Well, I am Rie Jespersen. This is Deylin Reyes. Do you have gardening and cooking yet?"

Isla nodded, briefly glancing at her sheet while holding the little girls' hand. "Yes, I do," she replied. "I have cooking for myself and gardening for Anastasia Collins."

"What are you missing?" Deylin asked. "The iPhone versus Android question, whatever that is, and the pet one."

"I have a dog," Rie remarked. "You can put me on there. What about you? We have cooking already, obviously."

Isla shrugged, again somewhat cold. "I don't really care—put me where it fits."

"I doubt that that's the purpose of this game," Deylin replied. "Do you like chess?"

"No. I'm a mechanic. I don't do that."

"What about 'Likes Swimming'?"

"I'm from Sumner. Any pool we had is destroyed."

"Drawing?"

"Not really."

"Stargazing?"

"Honestly, just jot me down anywhere," Isla insisted. "I don't have time for hobbies."

Deylin sighed, and noted down Isla's name onto the stars question, even if it wasn't true, apparently. Too bad, but well, she couldn't do anything. "Who's the girl?"

"My niece, I take care of her," Isla replied. She sighed. "Seriously, this is ridiculous."

"What?" Deylin questioned.

"iPhone versus Android. Do the royals really think everyone can afford them?"

"… What is the point of it in general?" Deylin asked confused.

"Two types of smartphones—it's ignorant of them to do that. The royal family—" she shook her head with a sigh. "Whatever. Annie, let's go on."

Rie cringed, but didn't say anything.

"… Okay, bye?" Rie shrugged. "Let's go on. What are we missing?"

They ended up talking to a few other girls to finally get all thirty-six names they needed. Ultimately, they didn't manage to win or lose. Going by Sophia, there was no 'winner' or 'loser', but some girls seemed to be more of a sore loser than others were.

"… What was up with her?" Deylin questioned once they were done, referring to Isla, the girl with the younger girl.

"With who? The girl with the niece? Maybe stress?"

Deylin nodded. "No need to be that cold?"

Rie shrugged. "I wouldn't put it beyond her to be a rebel who ran off, to be honest," Rie remarked.

"Are you sure?" Deylin asked Rie.

"They like to go on no-logic," Rie replied. "I mean, they claimed that the monarchy is a terror regime, but they're the one who cost me my legs. No one forced me to volunteer, but I did, because _I_ want to serve my country."

"Is that why you're here?"

"Partwise. I'm also here for the food," she joked.

"Well," Deylin began, "they better have sandwiches."

/ / /

 **Still the Grand Hall of Hill Castle, Angeles  
Irina Cavanah**

The human bingo had been awkward, although Irina didn't feel like it. Others had acted awkward when she had come, gotten their name and replied that they could put her down as 'has a middle name' (which she, curiously, shared with Leda Conner—it was Leda).

Now, Irina was standing back in the circle next to the other Leda, discussing the economy of Germany with a younger Selected who was studying economy. Both were Fours, and Leda apparently worked in the finance business. Irina didn't. She had no idea what they were talking about, and right now, her attention belonged somewhere else, either way. Surely, it would be good to pay attention to the other girls in the programme, but no one exactly had told them how the programme was going to end…

Irina frowned. Lady Moon hadn't come from such a programme, had she? She had been a Selected in the King's Selection, and a good friend of the late Queen. Ladies-in-waiting were companions to the royal they worked for. Sure, it was a job, but surely the winner of the Selection would want her ladies-in-waiting to be friends rather than strangers…?

Either the royal family had overlooked a something, or there was more to this.

"Thank you all!" Sophia smiled while some people behind her collected all sheets. "Congratulations to Leda Conner and Irina Cavanah in being the fastest—I hope you two had enough time to get to know everyone though." If there was any criticism in the statement, Irina couldn't see it; Sophia smiled happily through it all. It didn't fit, she thought. It probably was fake.

" _And the Great Eye is ever watchful_ ," Irina thought. She doubted that Sophia's team wouldn't be watching every of their actions and judge them.

"As for the next, I have titled it 'Q&A'. I have prepared a few 'questions' and 'prompts', and I want everyone to answer them. Well, most of them. Some aren't mandatory, and I can understand if you won't do it—I won't either, let alone because I'm wearing a skirt—but I hope to see some enthusiasm!"

Helena forced a smile, assuring Irina that the Queen Mother was much less enthusiastic than her granddaughter. She looked pitying. Did she know what was coming?

"We're starting out with Two Truths and a Lie. Everyone gets to do one, and we'll go clockwise around the circle. I'll start, and then, the person on my left Lady Baine, will continue. Anyone can guess though, and remember to introduce yourself, so we can learn names!"

Most of the statements were figured out by guessing, except an odd one when two girls knew each other. An example of such was Veira Schreave.

"My name is Veira Schreave, and I am from New York. I only drink green tea. I live in a penthouse. I have a sixty-five square feet walk-in closet," she said.

Before she even could finish the 'closet', Sophia clapped. "Ha! It's the closet! Mine is sixty-three square feet, and it's larger than yours!"

Irina didn't react, but others did. Especially girls who seemed to be of the lower castes—for example Zarah next to Sophia and the girl with the kid—cringed briefly. It was only for a few mere seconds, but Irina caught it by luck.

Irina mustered the princess as the game went on commentless; Veira had agreed, it was only sixty square feet large. She understood why they cringed—they were likely to be unable to afford such luxury, but she couldn't help but think that Sophia wouldn't say that without a reason.

Or at least she hoped.

And yet, these two were fools of a Took. It wasn't going to help them to openly react like that. They had originally applied for the Selection; how could they not be expecting to face some luxury? How would Illéa look among the other countries of the world if their princess didn't dress well?

The next one that stood out to Irina was Nereida Statten. This girl really loved attention, huh? Bubbly, she began listing (and nearly adding a fourth statement). "I'm Nereida, and I'm from a seaside town-city-place in Bonita. I love kids! I can't cook to save my life! I don't think I know all members of the royal family! I love—"

The blonde next to her who had gone before, Blair Willow, interrupted her. "That was three. You're done."

"Oh." Nereida shrugged. "Well, there you go."

"Evidently the third one is true," another girl remarked quietly on Irina's other side. She hadn't gone yet, but Irina remembered that her name was Harriet Tailor. The surname rung a bell, but there probably was more than one Tailor family in Illéa.

Irina looked to the tiny girl next to Isla Woodley. Too bad that she missed them interacting, if they even had. She could have figured it out—oh. Nereida was smiling to the little child.

"It's the second one, the one about cooking," Irina stated.

Nereida nodded energetic. "Yup!"

The line went on, and eventually reached its end. There wasn't a particular desire in Irina to tell everyone her life story, so she herself went with "I love The Lord of the Rings, I was in the army, and I have an older brother." The last one was a lie, but only discovered as second guess—apparently, she looked like the army type.

Other outstanding comments including Deylin Reyes admitting that she had done nude modelling before, and Sawyer Roth pointing out that she had three concussions in the past.

The game went on with 'What animal are you and why?' which was much easier. Irina was among the many dogs. Standouts included the sloth girl describing herself as parrot rather than sloth, Veira Schreave following as sloth and someone trying to convince her to put on the sloth costume (which she refused), and even more dogs.

"I personally think I am a bear—a mama bear, and yes, you are free to imagine Adrian in such a situation," Helena joked. "Primarily because I love honey though, and bears used to come into our garden when I was a child."

"You definitely are," Sophia insisted with a happy laugh.

"I'm fairly sure that Louis would be an owl," Helena added.

Sophia tilted her head. "Would you say so? Ernest stays up all night a lot."

Helena chuckled. "There's a reason why the lights in the library never turn off, Sophia. I would see Ernest as butterfly or squirrel. Xander is a peacock for sure."

Victoria wasn't mentioned. " _Why not?_ ", Irina briefly wondered. Bad memories, she decided, had to be the reason. Before Irina couldn't question anything more though, Sophia continued with the next icebreaker.

For this, everyone was asked to put off one shoe. Irina herself had brought three pairs, but gone for the sneakers today. She didn't expect to even leave the castle, so why bother and wear her boots?

They were to put them all into the middle—Helena and Abby retreated now—and once everyone had done so, they all were to take another shoe. Irina ended up with a pair of pumps. Again, in a circle, they were to state what they thought about the person the shoe belonged to, and then return it. Irina got hers back quite quickly, but the comment ("likes pop music") proved that the girl hadn't thought a lot.

"This shoe looks fancy," Irina pointed out when it was her turn. The shoe had a shiny red sole, and probably was a stiletto. "This has a brand called Louboutin," she added. She looked up to the girls.

And realised something.

Everyone was still wearing their second shoe.

"I presume that the person comes from wealth," she added, before turning to Harriet Tailor. "And it's yours."

Harriet nodded with a polite smile, and let Irina walk to her and hand the shoe over to her.

While the round went on, she couldn't help but wonder whenever Sophia thought of that. Remembering some of the girls' reaction on the iPhone and Android question, she couldn't help but wondering whenever Sophia had thought of that. Especially now too—the shoe looked far too fancy to be something anyone could afford.

Irina dropped the thought, and returned to paying attention.

By the end of it, Irina Cavanah was fairly positive that she had gathered information onto the girls, but knowing whenever Jaira Phillips wanted to be a superhero wasn't essentially helpful. At least Irina didn't expect that. At least she had been able to dodge the interpretive dance. Watching was fun (ranging between the Statten girl who was a professional dancer to Isla Woodley ft. her niece ("Annie") who couldn't dance at all and probably only had done that for the little girl), but it ended eventually. At least she got a good laugh out of it.

"As for now," Sophia announced once the 'Never have I ever…' round ended, "it's time for lunch, isn't it? Follow me, please!"

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **I keep throwing all the names at you, but I hope this helps with getting a vague gist. I also got off track, oops…**

 **The sloth was a dare from the Discord and a reference to the Sloth on The Bachelor.**

 **Next Chapter:** »Everyone had learned her name by now«


	14. Chapter 13

**Fallout**

 _In the previous chapter, the girls were greeted by Sophia and Abby Moon, the former lady-in-waiting to the late queen. During the first ice breakers, Rie Jespersen, the handicapped veteran, and Deylin Reyes, the dry sandwich addict, befriended over their health issues and lack of interest in the ice breakers. That did not get them out of the game though. Irina Cavanah remained relatively alone, but watchful of the others._

 **Chapter 13**

»Everyone had learned her name by now«

 **Garden of Hill Castle, Angeles  
Rowan Johansson**

Alright.

This was fine.

This was absolutely fine.

On the other hand, Rowan could have been sitting in a house on fire and not be more panicking. Not that she was panicking, more like… feeling like the worst person ever existing on the entire planet in the entire history of humanity?

Rowan took another bite of her lunch, glaring at Isla Woodley, her niece Annie—why had her _name_ have to be that?!—and the two girls (Nereida, everyone had learned _her_ name by now, and her best friend) who were having a friendly conversation. Well, Nereida, her friend, and the kid were.

Aggressively, Rowan took another bite. Why hadn't she thought of asking if she could bring along her Annie and Owen? It would have been a great experience for them (Annie would love it…) and _stupid Rowan_ had been too taken by the chance of becoming a Three to realize that…

While glaring at the kid, Rowan couldn't even enjoy the food—and it was good. Better than anything she had ever eaten or seen. Again, her Annie would love it. One girl had complained about the lack of sandwiches (Was she the one who tried to get out of the ice breakers with the heart condition?) but otherwise, everyone enjoyed the food.

"Understandable," Rowan muttered under her breath, and glanced over to Sophia who was eating with Abby and her grandmother, separated from the other girls. Royals could afford this kind of food. The rest of the people—those who were down in the lower castes—couldn't afford it.

Another reason why she was grumpy.

There was another girl, with straight light brown hair and a friendly slight smile on her face. She sat down next to Rowan, eating her food. From her looks, she wasn't from the lower castes. At least not a Seven. Maybe a well-doing Six or Four.

"My name is Leda," she eventually introduced herself with a smile. "Your name is Rowan, isn't it?"

Rowan nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you know Isla and her niece?" she continued curious.

"No."

"Why are you so curious about them then?" Leda went on. "You've been watching them the whole time we've been here to eat."

"Uh," Rowan cringed, "long story."

"Would you mind telling me?" Leda went on. "I'm sorry for being so talkative, I'm just curious about everyone here, and some people here are _so_ quiet…"

"My little sister is called Annie."

"Oh, is she? That's such a fun surprise!"

"I should have remembered to bring her."

"You could ask?"

Rowan shook her head. "That would make me look stupid and copying. Look at how popular Isla already is."

"I'd rather say that it's Annie that everyone likes. Isla is just hovering over her. I don't think she trusts many."

"I wouldn't either," Rowan admitted.

Leda turned to her, a brief smile hushing over her face. "What do you mean?"

"Well, this isn't the Selection, but we're still rivals, you know."

"Aren't the ice breakers meant to stop these feelings?"

"They weren't very well planned." Rowan leaned back into her chair. "So, why are you here?"

"Oh," Leda smiled at the memory. She placed her plate down onto the small table nearby and crossed her legs. "I signed up for the Selection for the experience, you could say. This is an experience too, isn't it?"

"Ah," Rowan nodded. "What did you do before?"

"I work as a stockbroker."

Rowan narrowed her brows. "What's that?"

"Stockbroker? My job."

"Yeah—what do you do?"

Leda was visibly surprised and put off, but gave Rowan a brief explanation of what her job entailed. Even when Rowan pushed, she didn't go into particular details, leaving Rowan with the impression that Leda probably compared herself to Fours that was leading companies and not doing normal jobs. How sad it was that someone with a secure, good job had these worries… A bit ironic too. Rowan knew how it was for people to judge her after all.

As Leda continued elaborating about her university degree and internship experience, the Queen Mother approached. "Quite an interesting topic for a lunch conversation," she said.

"I was just explaining Rowan what my occupation entails," Leda replied after rising (Rowan clumsily followed) and curtsied towards the royal woman.

"I hope you don't mind my interruption," Helena replied with a polite smile.

"It's perfectly fine," Leda insisted politely. She almost sounded like someone working with a client.

"I wanted to speak to Lady Johansson," Helena explained, "if you don't mind."

Rowan was taken by surprise and took a moment to respond. "Uh, sure?"

"I believe to have read that you are in de facto custody of your younger siblings—Owen and Annabelle?"

"Yes."

Rowan turned to Leda. Had she done something? That couldn't be, could it? She hadn't moved an inch since she joined Rowan, and there was no way she secretly communicated with the Queen Mother…

Then again, going by Leda, she had been obvious enough, so… maybe it was that?

"I presume that the opportunity to take them to Angeles was nothing you thought about, but I spoke with the organisation team, and they believe that inviting them for the time being would not be an issue."

"I…" Rowan hesitated. "I would absolutely love to see that, but I am afraid, I would not be able to afford to allow them to fly to Angeles, let alone stay anywhere."

Despite her tone, Helena's smile didn't falter. "I hope I made myself clear—the costs will not be yours. Sophia and Abby both absolutely adore children and would love to see them here."

"Then I wouldn't see any problem."

"I will remind the team in that case," Helena replied, before heading off again. "Do excuse me."

Only when the Queen Mother was out of reach, Leda's reaction showed. She cringed—much to Rowan's surprise.

"What's up?"

"The royal family is throwing a lot of money out of the window for this… Especially considering some of the flaws in organisation."

"Flaws?"

"I arrived at lunch time. I had nothing to do, and no idea of where anything was for the whole day," Leda explained. "It would have been better to give us tours after we arrived, instead of letting us roam free, safe for 'any rooms with closed doors'. Yes, there were maps, but it was a wasted afternoon—and we are being paid for this. The Selection will be expensive. Unless the royal family had secret resources of which no one knows—and I know that they don't—then they are going to go into the minus if they're doing this programme and the Selection."

"Why are you so certain?"

"I interned under a former financial advisor to the King," Leda explained.

"Oh, and your background is 'nothing special', Leda?" Rowan repeated surprised. She laughed at the irony. "That's nothing you encounter every day."

"My mentor didn't part with the royal family on best terms. How much do you know about the economic depression at the beginning of the King's reign?"

"I don't know what an economic depression is."

"Well," Leda lowered her voice, and glanced around herself, "the government screwed the economy up. Initially just in a few towns, but the effect ended up hitting the whole country."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know the details—it's all being kept secure and secret—but there were… almost complete holes in supply. That skyrocketed the prices. People couldn't afford food anymore, and the country barely avoided inflation."

"What's that?"

"Inflation?" Leda asked, and proceeded to explain.

Rowan hesitated. "Something like this happened in a neighbouring town, I heard. In mine too—when I was a child."

"What do you mean?"

"There was just a sudden stop in people producing food. I think some other works almost disappeared from the ground too—like the car of my parents' employees stopped working and they didn't employ a mechanic to fix it, because they couldn't find anyone."

"And there was a huge stop in government workings because there weren't enough workers?"

Rowan nodded. "Yeah."

"These events are usually kept pretty secret," Leda explained, "but news does travel if you know where to listen."

Rowan's eyes grew bigger. This hadn't just been some random thing happening around her—this was regular? What in the world was the King doing?

"It hasn't happened since a few years prior to the Unrest though," Leda added. "I believe that they finally figured out _what_ they did wrong. My mentor couldn't tell me what happened—it's too secret."

"That's strange…"

Leda nodded. "It is indeed."

Rowan glanced down onto her half-finished plate. With all these secrets, her appetite was lost, but not eating the food was a waste. She sighed and continued eating. "So, what other secrets do you know?"

Leda laughed. "Oh, nothing, nothing more. Now, tell me about you."

"Well, you already know I have two siblings," Rowan replied. "I'm one of these kids who lost someone in the war. My father died. My mother kinda too. She hasn't stopped drinking ever since. God knows where she gets the alcohol from."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Leda replied. "My brother hasn't been the same either."

Rowan looked up to the other girls, who had fallen into light and cheerful chatter. "I wonder how many of us fall into that category."

"Probably quite a few."

 **Designated Lesson Room of Hill Castle, Angeles  
Harriet Tailor**

Harriet suppressed a yawn. Next to her, Veira Schreave had already fallen asleep, but their teacher, a strict governess who apparently had been in charge of Princess Sophia's upbringing was talking them through basic etiquette.

Unlike Veira, Harriet wasn't nobility. But like Veira, she had learned this, though.

Probably not as extensively as Veira had, but Harriet definitely knew what they were talking about right now, and the fact that the lesson was set to last two hours until they had a break didn't motivate her to pay attention.

That, and especially since she did not need a teaching speed of a turtle.

While their teacher was discussing something (Harriet had lost track of the topic) with a few girls in the front row, she leaned back and glanced around the room. Fortunately, she wasn't the only one who had stopped paying attention. Good old Leila Sinclair was balancing a pen on her finger, and Rowan Johansson was staring a little bit too much onto the whiteboard.

Too bad that Isla Woodley hadn't brought her little niece. That would have been fun.

Too bad that the room didn't have a clock. The wall clock that existed wasn't moving anymore and evidently just a nice accessory. Twice, she had asked if she could have her phone back, but both times, she had gotten the response that due to 'security and further reasons', this was impossible.

Harriet had missed the moment when she had lost her phone. Damn maid, she was as swift as a ninja.

"And that was all for the beginning. We will discuss the basic addresses necessary next."

Some girls (like Miss I-don't-know-you're-a-princess) jumped up too quickly. Harriet fortunately knew from some very boring business meetings how to pretend to have been paying attention and not being impatient.

"Fuck, finally," someone groaned. Alex Valentino, the fashion model.

"That," the governess spoke up that high-pitched headmistress voice they had to listen to the whole time, "is a perfect example of inappropriateness." The old lady scribbled something onto her clipboard. About Alex?

"Mood," someone else muttered. It was the girl next to Alex, Leila Sinclair. She sighed, but quietly enough. She didn't gain their teacher's attention. "That was boring."

"Well, I think Veira here agrees," Alex shrugged and pointed to Harriet's neighbour.

"Hmmmm….?" Veira looked up oblivious. "What's with me?"

"This, Lady Schreave, is another example of inappropriate behaviour," the governess nodded. Veira didn't pay her an inch of attention, but instead looked questioningly at the other girls.

"This was boring," Harriet agreed.

"It's two o'clock in the afternoon," Veira muttered. "What does she expect me to do?"

"Umbridge here?" Alex asked, nodding at the governess. "Probably work?"

Veira yawned ladylike. That probably gave her plus points. "Boring. Do you think we'll be able to go shopping in the afternoon?"

"That sounds nice," Harriet agreed. "I haven't been in Angeles in forever… Do you think that nice boutique in Beverly Hills is still a thing?"

Alex groaned. "That's the only thing you can think of?"

"Well," Veira pointed out, "there's also that store that sells Prada designer editions."

Leila sighed. "Yeah, because that's totally the priority of being here…"

"What's so bad about shopping?" Harriet furrowed her bows and leaned back. She crossed her legs and arms, demanding an answer. Just like the snobby girl she was, she didn't see an issue with that all.

"If you need clothes so bad, I'm sure you can just ask," Alex replied, shaking her head. Why was she saying that, when Alex was literally working as a model? "Literally, they have anything here. From eye drops to potato salad."

"Why would you want potato salad?" Leila questioned. "I mean, I agree but…?"

"You can have tomato salad, too?" Alex shrugged. "The point is that there's better stuff to do than shopping."

"Such as?"

"Sleeping in airplanes," Veira yawned again. "That blanket was comfy… I should have brought it…"

"When did you last sleep?" Leila questioned in disbelief. She nearly laughed though.

Veira shrugged. "I talked to some friends last night, and the night before was the flight to Angeles… and then we had that party and… in a bed, the night from Tuesday to Wednesday? I guess you could say I slept on Thursday, but that was on a sofa…"

"You need to sort out your priorities," Alex replied shaking her head.

"Jealous that she knows people?" Harriet teasing. Now she was the one to laugh. What was wrong with Veira's lifestyle? What was wrong with doing what you enjoyed?

"Jealous that what?" Alex rolled her eyes. "Rich kids, fake friends. Do your 'friends' even know your favourite colour?"

"Considering the fact that she tends to wear it…" Leila remarked. "But yeah, sorry, but I'm pretty sure that Alex has friends."

"So, do I, and I like them too," Harriet hissed. And some of them? She'd definitely trust. Not all, but who had enough friends to be able to 'trust' all of them?

"Sure," Alex rolled her eyes. "And I have Gryffindor's sword in my hat."

"You're not wearing a hat."

Alex groaned. "Oh my gosh, Harry, calm down—it was a joke. Irony. You know, fun. Dunno if you know what that is, but it's pretty chill."

"Yes," Harriet needed to control her voice from shouting, "I do know what fun is. Thanks for the offer though."

Veira blinked and dropped her head back onto her arms. "Wake me when this is all over," she muttered.

"Me pretending to pay attention lmao," Alex muttered.

"I am also capable of enjoying thing above the basic level of emojis," Harriet added.

"Did you just call Alex stupid?" Leila asked insulted. What had Harriet done? She had insulted Alex, not Leila, and Alex definitely deserved it… "Harriet, by all respect, people are different, and no one deserves to be put down for that."

"I'm sorry that our little model here probably can't multiply 3 and 4," Harriet joked.

"I can!" Alex insisted loudly.

Harriet opened her mouth to shoot something back, but a backpack (who even had brought one?) flew between them. "Shut it, or have your cat fight somewhere else," somebody complained.

Three of the four girls looked up (Veira evidently didn't care about the backpack…), and saw Zarah Baine, sitting with Ami Kennedy and Isla Woodley (the former trying to stop herself from laughing) nearby them.

"Hey!" Alex called out loudly. "What's that meant to be?"

"You're being ridiculously loud," Zarah complained.

"That's not a reason to throw a backpack full of pencils and books at us," Leila insisted.

"Exactly," Harriet agreed. Even though she didn't like to agree. They had a good point—how did they dare? Was that so common among the lower classes? Harriet reminded herself to be the lady she was, and not to bother herself with giving these girls any further attention.

"Either way," she turned back to Alex, "I apologise for your lack of education—I am sure a _model_ such as you contributes a lot to society."

"No one asked if I wanted to do that crap!" Alex insisted.

"You seemed fairly content with yourself when the Vogue interviewed you. I must admit, you do entertain me quite a bit now, too."

No matter whenever Alex needed to be a hipster by not wanting to be the Two she was or not, that insulted her too, and Harriet realised that very much. Direct or indirectly, Harriet had told her that she was doing a Five's work.

That she wasn't a real Two, just some fancy celebrity.

Not part of _the_ society.

 _Anyone_ would be hurt by that. Well, expect Fives and below, maybe.

"Hey," another head popped into the conversation, this time without a backpack flying through. Unlike Zarah, she didn't come from distance either, but from close by. Sawyer Roth didn't seem happy either. "Zarah's got a point—you're loud, and insult people as well."

"I can assure you that I do not intend to insult anyone's opinion with the exception of Alessandra."

Alex cringed at her full name.

"She _does_ _not_ have a point in throwing a backpack though," Sawyer added cynical. "I mean, if you want to be thrown out for misconduct, go ahead, but I think, the rest of us has information to process."

Harriet was probably just as tall as Sawyer, but unlike her, she was wearing heels. She looked down at the woman whose caste she yet didn't know. Something told her that even if she was among the upper _castes_ , Sawyer Roth wasn't among the upper c _lass_. That was what ultimately mattered. If Harriet wanted to, she could be a Two in no time. What about Sawyer? The fact that she stepped in told her the opposite.

Sawyer cared.

Sawyer wasn't of the social elite. She didn't know that this was nothing someone uninvolved would step in, unless they wanted to have a laugh too. No one nowadays played the hero. That was ridiculous.

Nonetheless, the next words by the brunette gave her cold chills. "I am warning you four."

Harriet took a brief second to speak up, but she was interrupted by their teacher clapping quickly. Time to return, back to boring old forms of address. Harriet suppressed a sigh while Alex, Leila and Saywer walked away from her again. Veira was still napping.

Something told Harriet that she needed to get her hands on a good book or magazine for the next lessons until they had caught up to something she wasn't perfectly accustomed to yet. Maybe there was some form of text book, so she could work ahead. Make sure that she hadn't missed anything but could focus onto this.

Her dad had told her that princesses needed maths. She expected more than this.

/ / /

 **Author's Note:**

 **Thanks to Abizeau for being such a great beta reader! 3**

 **Next Chapter:** »It was the Selection«


	15. Chapter 14

**Fallout**

 _In the previous chapter, friendships were made. Leda Conner, the pragmatic stockbroker and Rowan Johansson, the pessimistic farmer bonded during lunch, and Harriet was faced with Alex Valentino, the model who knows her memes, and Leila Sinclair, the socialite-firefighter. She found an ally in the always-sleepy Veira Schreave. Or something like that._

 **Chapter 14**

»It was the Selection«

 **Garden of Hill Castle, Angeles  
Anastasia Collins**

The closer Anastasia looked, the more curious plants she found in the garden. Whoever had been in charge of planting had been very careful, the hobby gardener noted. Some of them were plants providing good tea leaves, others were just merely beautiful.

During the ice breaker, she had learned that Jaira Phillips and Minnie Whitefield worked for I-TEC as well. She wasn't sure how to take it. Minnie came from another side of the large cooperate, but Jaira was a biochemist—her work was so similar to Anastasia's bio-engineering…

"Do I feel threatened?" she wondered. "Biology will not give me the shot to change anything," she thought. Plus, as of what she had seen by now, she was glad to know that she had one advantage. Anything that happened proved that she was right.

This wasn't training. It was the Selection.

Thirty-five girls, one from each province. Absolutely the Selection. The presence of the Queen Mother (who, though, had only been present once) and Princess Sophia was just another proof of her theory. Maybe she could go and speak to them? Would that give her an advantage?

"Do you like the garden?" somebody asked.

Anastasia rose, and recognised the Queen Mother. Unlike some of the 'rich girls', Anastasia had no problem with forcing herself to pay attention. She had done that before, and aced school—there was no reason not to do so. She curtsied to the woman. "Yes, I do," she added.

"They've fallen apart more and more," Helena remarked, looking over the large piece of beautifully kept nature, with the setting sun in the distance. Amazing, Anastasia agreed. "Do you know their background?"

"No, ma'am." Anastasia knew how to deal with superiors. Even top uni grades hadn't helped her to stand up to superiors at I-TEC, but her answer wasn't the answer of a quiet little girl. She wanted Helena to know that _she could_ do _things_.

"My mother-in-law build them, after Hill Castle had become unused in favour of the Illéa Palace. It once used to be the residence of Gregory Illéa, even before the foundation of our country."

"It's gigantic," Anastasia pointed out.

"Stupid display of wealth," Helena replied coldly. "Me and Skyla—my mother-in-law—both agreed that it should be used for other things, but I must admit it is a nice place for retirement."

Anastasia nodded politely. The Queen Mother was old, and evidently remembering of the past. King Henry had passed away in Anastasia's childhood. The job probably wasn't good on one's body. The human body wasn't her speciality, but Anastasia knew one or two things.

"She was the one to change the garden here, and then, when she had proven herself to the Queen, was allowed to change the whole of the Illéa Palace's garden. She did an incredible job."

Anastasia nodded. History wasn't her strength (science was) and honestly, she couldn't remember said Queen's name. She had read a bit about the previous two Selections during her time here, but that was all. Nonetheless, she appreciated this.

"I agree," Anastasia nodded, "although they must have been more beautiful during her lifetime."

"Yes," the Queen Mother nodded. "It was. I do prefer where the money spent on gardeners went, though."

"Huh…?"

Helena turned to Anastasia. "Don't worry," she replied. "I am sure you'll want to eat so—I won't stop you of that."

Yes, Anastasia was somewhat hungry, but she could have asked for food if she had wanted so much. "Pardon my question, but while I do see why communication is limited, would it be possible for me to use my laptop without internet connection? For music, mainly," Anastasia replied.

"I did not make the rules," Helena laughed, "but if you ask Sophia, I am sure she won't mind." She smiled—for the first time in their conversation with Anastasia—but hesitated. "Do tell me, what do you see as reason? For the limited connection?"

"Well," Anastasia hesitated, "I presume that this is actually the Selection. The numbers, past occurrences and what I have been told fit up. Besides that, security, I assume."

"Oh," Helena laughed, "you're an intelligent one, then." Helena nodded. "Yes, you're completely right. Please do not tell anyone else, though."

"Why not?"

"I'll be honest," Helena turned to Anastasia. "This is a test. It'd be bad for your chances, and it would cause us trouble in judging."

So, this was a test, Anastasia repeated to herself. Good to know. If she wanted to get far, then she needed to use any knowledge she had. "In that case, I will do so," Anastasia replied with a polite smile.

The Queen Mother walked away from her, leaving Anastasia alone in the garden and the new knowledge. She didn't stay there for much longer, but instead headed back to her room. She didn't intend to change or anything, but she did ask for the maid to contact the princess, so she could ask about her computer. Anastasia needed to think, and for that, she needed music.

When she had done so, the remark of Helena made sense. She was reminded to head to dinner, and, briefly checking the notes she had been writing over the day (primarily in class), she headed towards the dining hall, as one of thirty-five Selected. As the only one who had an idea of why they were here.

Proudly, Anastasia smiled.

The dining room was filled with a few girls already present, where as others arrived past their meant arrival time. Unlike at lunch, their seating had been pre-decided. Too bad, Anastasia wouldn't have minded to sit among the organisation team.

Her neighbours had been named as Jaira Phillips and Sawyer Roth. They sat at multiple tables, and the one Anastasia had been seated at, was nearest to the ceiling-high windows. She smiled towards Jaira who was already sitting and quietly reading a book.

Jaira smiled back, and dropped the book. The girls next to her where in a middle of a discussion about the sloth girl (would she pop up as sloth again? No one knew…), but Jaira's interests weren't there either.

"Hello," Jaira replied. "What have you been up to?"

"I went to the garden," Anastasia replied. "You?"

"Reading," Jaira replied with a quiet laugh. "I would like to learn more about whenever we can just go into Angeles though."

"Huh?"

"Los Angeles isn't too far off—I haven't been there, and I'd love to do sightseeing."

"Then," another girl dropped onto Anastasia's other side—Sawyer Roth, "you aren't the only one. Count me in on your sight-seeing trip."

"Sure," Jaira nodded (slightly less interested, Anastasia believed, but hey, Sawyer wasn't a scientist unlike them…) and looked to Sawyer. "What have you been up to?"

"They pulled me into a dentist appointment. Apparently one tooth wasn't too well off," Sawyer shrugged. "You?"

"Nothing for me, fortunately."

"… Not even a 'we need to discuss the fact that your high school education isn't finished'?" Sawyer joked.

"We graduated from university…?"

"Oh welp." Sawyer leaned back. "I'm working on high school…?"

"Are you from a red province?" Jaira inquired.

"A red province? Uh, yeah, Fennley. My hometown was occupied."

Jaira nodded. "That makes sense. I'm sorry for that."

"I'm gonna hope you weren't a rebel," Sawyer laughed. "What about you two?"

"Dakota," Anastasia replied.

"Whites," Jaira added. "Looking back, I don't even know why I was worried… The rebels never got close to my hometown…"

"Well, who'd want to dig through snow, huh?" Sawyer shrugged.

"We just had economic things going on," Anastasia replied, hiding the shaking hands of hers beneath the table. "We were fortunate." She looked down.

"Yeah," Sawyer deadpanned.

"The evacuation should have been better organised," Anastasia remarked. "I understand that the Air Force wasn't used in combat, but planes surely would have been the easiest way to relocate civilians."

"There was a lot of strange occurrences with the air traffic in general. The whole of Illéa was a no flight zone—even for foreign planes. Tourists couldn't escape," Jaira remembered. "They had to go by ship."

Sawyer rose an eyebrow. "Really?"

Anastasia nodded. "I heard about that too. My parents wanted to escape to England, but they couldn't."

"Well, you evidently survived," Sawyer muttered. "No reason to complain, huh?"

"Tell that to my sister," Anastasia laughed. "I love her, but sometimes…"

"What is your sister doing?" Jaira asked curious.

"She's a college student," Anastasia replied. "But more occupied with finding a guy to date, really."

"Ouch," Sawyer cringed. "I got two brothers, and neither of them are trying to find a guy to date, as far as I know."

"What do they do?" Anastasia asked curious.

"High school student and military nurse. My older brother is still working," Sawyer explained. "He's in some military hospital dealing with the post war stuff. Like people hurt on long term and so on."

Anastasia hid another cringe of worry, while Jaira briefly talked about her sister, someone who aimed to become a teacher. Topic change. They definitely needed a topic change.

"So, what do you like to do? As hobbies?"

"Wait, what do you two do again? University graduates, sure, but?"

"I'm a biochemist," Jaira replied. "I develop medicine. As for hobbies… Yoga, reading, ice skating, chess and generally environment? I did some environment stuff in high school, but the war made charity work more difficult."

"Oh, that's cool!" Anastasia pointed out. "That's what I do for work—I'm a bio-engineer. I research elemental deposit levels in the Sioux Falls, right now."

"… What?"

"The Sioux Falls are—"

"Waterfalls, I guess." Sawyer shook her head. "Elemental deposit levels? That sounds like a mix of Avatar and video games."

"Well, they are—"

"I also don't need a biology lesson."

"Oh."

"Well, I like gardening, hiking, reading and environmental science."

"Nerds," Sawyer joked. "But for me, it's cooking, running and… uh… probably picking up fights. I work at my dad's restaurant as waitress, and as DJ. Sometimes graffiti, and dubstep."

"That's cool!" Anastasia spoke up. "I probably should have gone to more clubs and parties during university…"

"What did you do?"

"Study," Anastasia laughed. "But I tend to blast music when studying or working."

"… So, it was you who had the music on so loud yesterday evening?" Jaira concluded. "I see!"

"Uhm… I'm sorry?" Anastasia cringed. Flashbacks of college and annoyed neighbours. Oops…

Dinner was finally served as everyone arrived. Somebody in the background complained about the lack of sandwiches again, but Anastasia herself was fairly glad to find herself happy with the food. She was hungry as well, she remembered.

/ / /

 **Isla's room in Hill Castle, Angeles  
Ami Kennedy**

Annie, Isla Woodley's niece, was playing with a hot pink car that Ami's maid had brought for the little girl. Annie had become some of the staff's favourite, and a nightmare for the rest. Ami herself didn't mind. She had ended up with Zarah and Isla something (probably Annie?), and while the other two were talking about work and what not, Ami was trying to gain the little girls' attention.

"So… What are you?" Isla asked Ami. She had been watching her carefully. That girl was damn protective of her niece, but then again, if Ami's little sister wasn't such a perfect little angel, she probably would be too.

"A human," Ami replied.

Isla and Zarah couldn't facepalm quickly enough. "Your cast, duh," Zarah replied.

Oh. That's what they meant. "We're all Threes now, aren't we?" Ami asked. "Well, except the ones who were above it."

"As if that's a real thing," Zarah replied, rolling her eyes. "Our dear little Harriet evidently doesn't believe so."

"Harriet?"

"The brunette hotel heiress. Tailor hotels. They're a big thing. They used to have a hotel in my hometown. It blew up," Isla summarised.

"Oh, we don't really have hotels at home. Not enough people coming, I guess," Ami replied with a shrug. "That's fine though, I like having the mountains for myself. I love snowboarding."

"Yeah, but what's your caste?"

"Two," Ami replied. "You?"

Annie stumbled towards Ami. "Me too! Right?" she turned to Isla, looking for approval.

"Uh, yeah," Isla nodded. "You are."

"So, you two are Twos? What about you, Zarah?"

"Six," Zarah replied. "I work as driver sometimes and as secretary for my aunt." She leaned back. "But now I'm a Three, and I hope that's going to do the job."

"The job?"

"I needed a newer caste. My aunt and uncle—my parents are dead—were wary about buying me up, so I needed other ways." Zarah shrugged, and dumped her feet onto the table. Isla pushed them off. "What?"

"Manners," Isla insisted. "You're a bad role model for Annie."

Ami cringed. "Gah, please don't. Professor Umbridge was a nightmare enough today."

"Didn't you learn manners as a kid?" Zarah asked. "That's the thing with my uncle at least. He married my mum's sister, made her a Two. Lots of trouble for her, at first."

"Nah," Ami shook her head. "I'm an athlete, you don't need manners for that."

"Never saw you in the Olympics," Zarah pointed out, putting her legs onto the table again. Isla pushed them down again, and gave Zarah a pretty cold glare.

Meanwhile, Ami cringed. She wasn't going to be sad about the fact that she really didnt have any career chances unless she finally made a respected team… She pouted, and looked aside. She really could use a TV show, right now…

"Huh?" Zarah leaned forward. "Oh well, whatever. What about you, Isla?"

"Seven."

"Similar story for your niece then?"

Isla nodded without looking up to Zarah. "Yeah, kind of. Where are you two from again? Sorry—too many people. I barely know everyone's name, even with name tags."

"Yeah," Ami nodded. "Everything just blurs? Like, I know there's that girl in the wheelchair and the one with the heart condition, but if you showed me only their heads, I wouldn't be able to say who's who."

"Nereida Statten," Zarah pointed out.

"I think she managed to get everyone to remember her name," Isla replied with a chuckle. "My city was given up on, and even _I_ know how the royal family looks like. Why did you two sign up? For the Selection, I mean. I guess you didn't know about the program?"

"Caste upgrade, really," Zarah replied with a shrug. "I mean, it's cool that the Crown Prince signed up for the war, but yeah, otherwise? Sophia's a perfect pretty princess, and Louis' one big dick. Who even knows about Victoria?"

"They need to do better on restorations though."

"What do you mean?" Ami asked Isla.

"My hometown was just given up on. You literally see plants growing up on skyscrapers, and criminals are all around. I'm pretty sure that the person who broke into my neighbours' house was a rebel, and there are lots of homeless people."

"Aren't there refugee camps? Like, all over the country? I was cool because my fam could afford it, but…" Zarah broke off.

"Yeah, but it's still my hometown. Plus, mixing multiple cities doesn't mean you have a functioning city. Lots of people can't find jobs, and I—working as mechanic, that's pretty needed—don't get paid well."

"That might just be a bad employee," Zarah remarked. "I used to drive to make the ends meet, and that was desired during the Unrest because no one drove around alone, but my old employee was one big jerk and didn't exactly pay me like he should have and—what are you doing?"

Zarah was looking at Annie who was waving to whatever was behind Ami. Of course, the snowboarder turned around to see a brunette woman kneeing in the door frame to Isla's room and wave to the little girl.

God knew if she was one of the girls or a staff member of the organisation team—everyone looked the same. Ami's sister had supplied her with enough images of the last Selection showcasing the Selected in beautiful princess dresses, but them? They were walking around in their own clothes.

Although measurements and so on had been taken…

The woman in the door frame was wearing clothes that Ami nonetheless judged to be a tiny little bit too much for a member of the organisation. Her style looked pretty much like what Zarah wore, just a bit chicer and without beanie. Isla had grabbed Annie's hand protectively.

"Hello, miss…?"

The brunette looked up. "Tori," she finished the sentence. "Sorry to interrupt. Your niece is a little cutie," Tori remarked.

"Uh, thanks?" Isla replied. She didn't let go of her niece's hand though. "What can we do for you?"

"Nothing really," Tori stood up. "I was going to meet with Sophy, but she's somewhere talking to old friends. Nice to meet y'all."

Isla was the first to introduce herself (with her full name, she didn't just go for her surname), followed by Zarah and Ami. Silence fell onto the room.

With a sigh, Isla broke it before it could be awkward. Tori didn't seem to mind. Weird girl. "I assume you work with Her Royal Highness then?"

Wow, Isla was good. Ami hadn't thought of referring to Sophia as HRH, she probably would have said Sophia or something like that. At least Miss Tori hadn't done that either? Well, she probably was a friend of the princess, or something.

"Something like that," Tori shrugged. "I work at the Palace. Do you like Hill Castle?"

"It's big," Zarah remarked. Was that good or bad?

"I know," Tori laughed, "but the Illéa Palace is bigger."

"Are we going to go there? When?" Annie wanted to know.

"I don't know," Tori shrugged. "But yeah, I probably should go. Don't wanna have Sophy wait for me. Do soar like birds, you girls. You've got a big opportunity in front of you."

Ami froze.

Tori walked out of the room as if nothing happened. Neither Zarah nor Isla seemed to notice, and the woman didn't either. Miss Tori left them alone, but Annie insisted on walking after her. Well, she ran off, causing Isla to jump up worried and rush out to follow her niece.

"She's a bit too protective, isn't she?" Zarah asked.

Ami didn't answer.

Isla returned looking stressed with her niece who immediately went back to the pink car. "Hey, can I have a phone like Tori had?" she asked.

"Huh?" Isla looked to her niece, hiding disappointment.

"What do you mean?"

"She used one of these fancy touch phones! We found it in the doctor's room, but couldn't use it because we didn't find the key!"

"Doctor's house?" Zarah repeated, rising an eyebrow at Isla.

"Our home was destroyed long ago—we've been living in a doctor's home. He doesn't seem to want it anymore," Isla replied with a shrug. "Miss Tori probably just texted the princess or so. Whatever."

Ami relaxed. It probably was just some really random coincidence. What did she worry about?

"Hey, do you wanna go and ask if they have some games around? If they don't want us to go out into town, maybe we can play some board games? Like Uno or Monopoly?"

Zarah shrugged. "A card game they'll definitely have. We could play strip poker."

"Zarah!" Isla cried out. "Annie is a child!"

"Yeah, I'm sure her bed time is soon," Zarah replied with a shrug.

"I like her!" Annie declared, putting Isla into an even worse spot. Zarah laughed, and Annie smiled. Ami joined.

"You two are a terrible influence on her," Isla insisted.

"I didn't do anything!" Ami called out. "Don't judge me for what Zarah did!"

"You agree, didn't you?"

"Nooo! I don't wanna do strip poker, I want to play Uno."

"Oh, I love Uno!" Annie exclaimed. "Can we play Uno? Please?"

/ / /

 **Next Chapter:** »She makes terrible tea«


	16. Chapter 15

**Fallout**

 _In the previous chapter, Anastasia learned the truth about the training of the Queen Mother, and met with Jaira Phillips, a fellow scientist, and Sawyer Roth, a DJ willing to fight. While dodging the Great Unrest, the girls ate together. Later on, Zarah Baine, the rebellious driver/secretary, Isla Woodley, the mechanic that came with her niece, and Ami Kennedy, the hot-headed snowboarder spent the evening together, and met the strange Miss Tori._

 **Chapter 15**

»She makes terrible tea«

 **Illéa Palace, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

One week and one day until the New Asian declaration would arrive.

Eleven days until Sophia intended to tell the girls the truth.

Twenty-nine days until the girls would arrive at the Illéa Palace.

Xander shuddered. On his way back from a meeting, he had gotten a brief message from Sophia asking if he had time to discuss the beginning. To believe that the girls would just be given a shot onto catching up with each other was naïve. Of course, Sophia, Helena and the whole team were to watch them.

He reached his office alone, and honestly, he was glad that no one had interrupted him. The bet that had turned from a joke into a serious thing (Whose idea had that been? Tori? It sounded like something she'd do…), and Jonathan was still pressing him into talking to his father.

Xander hadn't, but he had an excuse to do that. He was too busy. Jonathan didn't buy it—of course he didn't—but Xander had gotten rid of him for now by occupying him with good old military work.

"Hello!" Sophia was as cheerful as usual. "How are you?"

"Good," Xander lied. He didn't bother looking to the screen that presented his younger sister, but instead pulled out brief notes he had written over the past days. The girls had arrived on Friday. It was Sunday. What had happened that Sophia wanted to talk to him?

A lot, evidently.

Besides someone asking for a rainbow pixie haircut (What even was that?) and someone being attached to a sloth costume (Again, why?), he had heard about a fight between four girls of which at least three had been on the top of the list, and the fact that one girl already figured the whole thing out.

That was certainly a positive, Xander thought.

Sophia continued on about things such as the different progress in education and what not, before coming to a topic that she seemed much more curious about. At least she only started when they finished the Selection discussion.

"How's Louis?"

"I haven't seen him since Friday," Xander admitted. "Probably in the library."

"But Ernest is doing fine?" Sophia asked. "He's still out of Angeles, isn't he?"

"If I remember the plans correctly, then yes. He'll be out of Angeles for most of March."

Sophia laughed. "Good, then he won't just appear here and distract the girls." She paused. "No seriously—got any plans for that?"

"Not exactly," Xander admitted. "I was hoping to push him for behaving. Jonathan will probably hover above him either way."

"That's true," Sophia admitted. "Anything new from Vic?"

Xander shook his head. "Nothing I'd know about. Besides her insisting on wanting to do a change in hair style."

Sophia on the screen rose an eyebrow. "Hair style? What?"

"I don't know all the details," Xander replied, "but from what I've heard, she wants to cut it and dye it brown."

Sophia leaned back. The last time she had seen her sister was ages ago, Xander realised. "When was the last time she had a haircut?" she asked.

"I'm not sure if that ever happened since the Siege, to be honest." And before that, it was even more unlikely.

"Then she definitly needs a haircut. That's not healthy for her hair otherwise," Sophia recommended. "Why hasn't she just gotten one?"

"Tori is worried," Xander replied.

"Tori? Worried?" Sophia tilted her head. "Wait—why?"

"I'm not sure," Xander replied, "but I trust her opinion. I'll talk to her."

"Tori or Vic?"

"Tori."

Sophia sighed. "Xander, Vic is her own person. It's her decision to make."

Yes, it was, but the Crown Prince wasn't exactly sure whenever he wanted to leave that to his youngest sister's hand. At least not just yet.

"I have to go now," Sophia spoke. "Someone asked why they're doing work on the weekend, and I gotta admit, I forgot that we said they have the weekends off… I'll figure something out." She smiled. "See you!"

"Good bye," Xander replied. The video call ended.

Xander wasn't given a second to think about their conversation—someone knocked at the door. Once, twice, and again, he didn't have a second to say "a moment". The door opened. Tori didn't wait to be let in.

"Morning," she told Xander, before falling onto the chair in front of his desk. "You look like someone just told you that you have a month left to live."

It felt like that. "I'm fine, thank you very much," Xander replied. "You look great as well.

"I sure hope so," Tori replied. She crossed her legs and leaned forward. "I did as you asked. No one knows, Sophy thinks I came by for tea. She makes terrible tea."

"Which means?" Xander asked without looking up from the notes he had just made.

"I think she needs to adjust the temperature a bit, and maybe—"

"You sound like Vic." Well, Vic back then, when all she cared about was tea and other past times. Back then, when Vic hadn't grown interested in the growing unrest and followed their father into more meetings that the Crown Prince did.

Tori didn't immediately respond. In his peripherical vision, he could see that she looked down with her eyes. "Probably because she makes good tea," Tori replied.

"How has she been?"

"Disappointed that you didn't tell her about the Selection in person."

Yeah, she had come to hear about that in other ways. It couldn't have been Tori—she had been among the last to hear about it—so it probably was staff gossip. Xander dropped the pen, considering answers he could give. Was there anything he could use to explain, though? He didn't feel like there was anything.

"Yeah, no need to look like a sad sheep," Tori replied, rolling her eyes. "Now, about the Selected—no one was stupid enough to pick up the hint yet."

"That's good," Xander said.

"That's bad," Tori corrected cold. "It means that if someone's in the Selection that we don't want, they are clever enough not to show. _They might know_."

"Security is guranteered, Tori, and—" Xander explained calm.

"It's not the goddamn security I care about," Tori hissed. "It's Vic I care about. What if one of the girls is a rebel who went under the radar? What if they are considering reforming? There are enough people who didn't like the lack of census and care. There's going to be even more when the public hears about the little stunt about the month of education you pulled. This isn't a military operation where an individual's opinion doesn't count. This is freakin' politics."

"I am very well aware of that."

"Then do me the favour and _make sure no one touches Vic_."

Xander mustered the dead-serious woman in front of him. Louis liked to compare her to one of these comic book characters he liked so much, Black Widow, but instincts that Xander wouldn't exchange for anything reminded him that Tori could turn into a threat anytime soon.

Sometimes, he wondered if Jonathan was right after all.

She crossed her arms. "Do your job, Xander, if you don't want another civil war on the doorstep." She paused. "I've written down some notes and mailed them to you."

Xander knew better than to argue with her. "Thank you," he replied calmly. "Anything else you would like to discuss?"

"Yes, Vic—"

"I trust Sophia's opinion on hair more than I do yours, and she agrees that a haircut isn't a bad idea."

"Xander, you don't understand. She thinks—"

Xander cut her off. "You elaborated this to me twice. This is my decision. If Victoria wants a _haircut_ , she gets one."

Tori cringed. "Alright, alright. I don't think dying would be a good idea though. Also—do you have a hair stylist you trust?"

"… Talk to Sophia about that." Tori had a very good point. He had no idea who wouldn't frighten Victoria to death.

"I'm pretty sure she's occupied with a bunch of girls."

"I meant—" Xander sighed. "Ask Sophia if she has a hair stylist she recommends."

"If she herself hasn't seen her sister in ages, I doubt that Sophia will have a hair stylist who'll be helpful."

He clenched his fist around the pen. "Any other suggestions?"

"Don't have it cut."

"You could do it."

Tori rose an eyebrow. "Xander, I can assure you that my hair cuts are nothing you'd want to do to a princess."

"It's not like anyone'll see her anytime soon," Xander replied.

"Just drop the topic for now," Tori replied with a shrug. "Vic has given up on it long ago."

Tori probably knew better than Xander did, but he wanted to hope that exactly that wasn't the case. At least not just yet. But maybe, Victoria could stay at Hill Castle when the Selected arrived? She'd most certainly be able to avoid the strangers living in her home…

/ / /

 **Hallways of Hill Castle, Angeles  
Minerva "Minnie" Whitefields**

Minnie had given the organisation one day to explain.

On the morning of the second, she had started questioning the maid she had been assigned, who in return had no idea of anything. She was new, apparently. She had gone on to Abby Moon, who had replied that she would speaks to Sophia about it.

Now, she was heading towards one of the lounges, curious to hear what the Illéan princess had to say in her defence. Minnie herself had plans for the weekend, and while yesterday had included new information, it wasn't enough of real value that she could be bothered to scrap her plans.

The Mood Tracker for today had noted that she was annoyed _already_. They had just eaten lunch together. This was going to be a nice day, huh… She dropped onto the sofa, and watched the rest of the girls fill in. Minnie yawned. She hadn't exactly slept well, but at least she wasn't the only one. Veira Schreave, she believed, had slept through all lessons until now.

A fellow brunette dropped onto the couch next to her. Sawyer Roth, Minnie remembered. The girl from one of the cities in Fennley that had been occupied, huh…

"Hello," she greeted Sawyer with a smile. It was false, but who cared? She wanted her promised weekend off. If the princess wanted to start through, then why not have them arrive on Sunday rather than Friday?

"Hey," Sawyer replied, 'What'cha doing?"

"Awaiting Her Royal Highness' explanation on the current situation."

Sawyer sucked in air. "Ah."

"I presume everyone is doing that."

"Sounds fun," Sawyer replied, "but why do we make such a big deal about it?" Sawyer shrugged. "I get that it's a bit different than what was said, but as long as Harriet and Alex don't start another fight, it's not that much of a hassle."

A practical viewpoint, Minnie agreed with that. They only had a month, and who knew how much of a plan there was for them to learn? But still, she wanted the royal household to keep to their side of the contract. Now.

"What else were you planning?" Sawyer asked.

"I've been told that there is a very interesting nightlife scene here. I'd like to meet people outside the training."

"You noticed the restrictions on going out?" Sawyer asked. "It's almost like on a school trip."

"Yes, I noted. It's unlike what I was told," Minnie replied hesitant. "What do you intend to do?"

Sawyer leaned back. "See how it goes? I mean, after someone brought it up, Sophia seemed fine with explaining the situation. And, I doubt that they'll be so harsh on keeping us here."

"Hmhm…" Minnie nodded.

The conversation was going nowhere. Sawyer was either laid-back, or she didn't care about whenever someone told them to stay or not (something told her it was the latter), and either way, their attention was diverted to Abby and Sophia, who had arrived.

"Hello everyone," the princess greeted them in the usual overly bright voice she had. "Thank you all for coming."

Going by the expression on some girls' faces, they didn't mind the situation. Others (Minnie spotted Zarah in her usual punk-styled attire) seemed to be expecting an explanation. Next to her, Sawyer crossed her arms and looked up.

Sophia briefly glanced to Abby next to her, who seemed to whisper a response. What were they talking about? Minnie wasn't given time to wonder. Whatever it was, Sophia continued to speak. "Now, I have had inquiries about the exact programme. I apologise for any misunderstandings, but there was a slight…" She looked aside. "…error of communication."

Minnie rose an eyebrow. Why did that just sound like one big terrible excuse?

"We do have a rather strict programme and deadline, we made the decision to have lessons this Saturday and today, on Sunday morning. There is no afternoon lesson—please apologise this miscommunication." The smile on her face grew more confident. "As for security measures, they are for _your_ security."

"Why are they necessary?" Someone—Rowan, a Seven, Minnie remembered—asked. "Is there any form of possible threat?"

Abby stepped ahead, presumably to say something. Before she could though (and something in Minnie wondered if Abby's answer wouldn't have been more helpful), Sophia placed a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back.

"Not even a year ago, my dear mother was murdered," Sophia reminded them. Her voice wasn't happy at all, the smile faltered. Cold, dead reality set in. Minnie tensed. Right. The War. "I have not seen my younger sister ever since. Even though I know that the enemy to our nation's peace has been defeated." These words sounded constructed, Minnie noted. Much more politician-like, less emotional. However, the worry set back in with her next words. "Whenever my brothers go out, I worry about their lives. I will not let anyone I might even become close to be hurt—not as long as I can prevent it."

Silence fell. Minnie looked down. Sophia was right. At least everyone had the decency not to say anything against her words. With this reasoning, it made much sense. She shuddered. She'd rather be here in the castle than in possible danger, and if Sophia feared more rebels then…

"Are you implying that there is a threat?" The voice of Ami Kennedy was naïve and curious, but Minnie immediately looked up again. Was there?

Sophia shook her head. "As of our current, best knowledge, no. But I doubt I will ever be able not to worry."

"Understandable," Minnie remarked. Sophia smiled at her grateful.

"As for now, please do inform a member of the staff if you decide to leave the castle grounds," Abby continued. "This concern has only recently come to mind, and we are still discussing possible solutions. I understand that no one here will be in favour of walking around with a bodyguard as attachment. If you wish so, please do talk to me. We can arrange things."

"So," Sophia clapped, "any other questions? Otherwise, you're free to go."

Sawyer turned to Minnie. "So, you're going out clubbing today?"

"Hmm?" Minnie turned to her.

"You said you'd like to check out the nightlife? I assumed you were heading for night clubs, not strip clubs."

Minnie stuck out her tongue. "Nightlife or so, yeah," she replied, "but I think I'll actually sit out for now."

Sawyer frowned. "Why? The security stuff? How would anyone know that we're doing this?"

"Hmm." Minnie hesitated. Did she want to go out with Sawyer, who essentially was a complete stranger? It probably was better not to go alone, but she had to get up early tomorrow too… Plus, she wanted to go over their lesson material too, and talk to the girls. Making connections and so on…

"I was thinking—we could just invite anyone who wants to go. As a group, we're safer, aren't we? Just a bunch of college students, if you look at our ages."

Minnie rolled her eyes. "Nowadays, you don't know who goes to high school and who finished college. The Unrest messed it all up."

Sawyer shrugged. "I wouldn't know. People probably still think that of us though. That's what we need."

Again, Minnie hesitated. Sawyer had a good point with her argument, but that didn't stop her from not wanting to go out clubbing with people she barely knew… This probably wasn't going to be good for her if she wanted to make connections.

Then again, would the people she wanted to meet go out clubbing?

Who knew. She did. Why wouldn't others do that?

"So?" Sawyer asked. "I mean, I'm gonna go either way. I want to check out that one club a friend recommended for sure."

"That sounds fun!" someone suddenly said. "Hey, Blair, do we wanna go too?"

Said 'someone' was Nereida Statten. The girl who didn't know who Sophia was. _Right_. Nereida bounced up and down in her ballerinas, while her friend, Blair Willow, followed up. Blair eyed Nereida questioning.

"Nah," she replied slowly. "Have you ever been clubbing? Sorry, but you look like the lightest lightweight I ever met."

"Oh," Nereida shrugged careless, "It'll be fine. And it'll be fun! We'll get to meet lots of people!"

"Yeah, no." Blair deadpanned.

And even though Nereida was right, Minnie agreed. There was no way Nereida wasn't going to pass out after a drop of alcohol—and the only words they had exchanged where "You can put me under I had a school uniform" and "I like to dance" plus their names.

"I was thinking of going swimming tonight?" Blair suggested. "It's meant to be good weather, and maybe you can see the stars from here?"

"Oh, that would be awesome!" Nereida cheered. "Yeah! Let's do that!"

"… Okay, sure?" Minnie blinked.

"Have fun with clubbing," Blair whispered to them. "I'm going to keep her off the alcohol."

Minnie nodded. "That… sounds like a good idea."

Sawyer tilted her head. "So, you're coming, Minnie?"

Did she have a choice? Minnie sighed. "Sure." She didn't need to drink anything, she decided. She could always just not drink anything. She was making a choice with it, after all.

Or so she thought.

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **Now, the chapter's out a bit early because I'm on a trip tomorrow. Thank you, Abizeau, for beta reading again. ^ _ ^**

 **We're beginning to dive into a few character's arcs that'll happen in the earlier parts. I'm ahead of this chapter, and by the time posting will have caught up with me, I will try to make it less 'jumpy' (as in, going from one to another scene) and merely focus on groups of girls for longer times, because I think that'll be easier, but I also like the the way this chapter was written.**

 **Next Chapter:** »Remind me to, if we ever run into him again, kick him«


	17. Chapter 16

**I recommend re-reading the last scene of the last chapter for context!**

 **Fallout**

 _In the previous chapter, Xander got an update from Sophia on the Selected, and met with Tori to discuss a more secret project. Alongside these news, a discussion concerning Victoria's hair arose, as well. Meanwhile, Sophia was confronted by nameless throwaways on the break in contact concerning free weekends, and barely lied her way out. Minnie Whitefield, the party-loving business woman, and Sawyer Roth, the DJ who will fight you, decided to go out clubbing with other girls._

 **Chapter 16**

»Remind me to, if we ever run into him again, kick him«

 **Stables of Hill Castle, Angeles  
Tessera "Tessa" Evans**

Tessa was not among the people wanting to go to the nightclub. Instead, the instant the idea was brought up by Sawyer Roth and Minnie Whitefields, she sneaked out of the lounge. Better not get noticed by the other girls, she thought. What if they'd persuade her to come along after all? Tessa remembered the stories her mother had told her. Girls getting kidnapped, drugs, alcohol... Nothing she wanted to get involved with! Tessa knew what she wanted. The horse stalls. She had wanted to go yesterday, except, she didn't. She had been far too tired, and then had even been drawn into yet another appointment with a stylist, focusing onto her (probably terrible) nails. She regretted the decision to come already.

"Lady Tessera," one of the stall boys greeted her. "I heard you asked if it was possible to ride the horses?"

Tessa nodded. Gosh, hearing her full name was weird. "Y… yeah."

Half an hour later, she had been given an extended tour of the stalls and was about to ride off into the forest that surrounded Hill Castle. In fact, she was already sitting on the beautiful brown horse named Brownie, when she recognized Pricilla Chamberlain coming in. Please, Tessa thought, I just wanted to go for a ride!

"Hello," Cilal hummed. "Oh, Tessa, was it?"

Tessa cringed, couldn't Brownie answer instead of her? Obviously, he couldn't. She could turn around and leave too. Wasn't she even sitting on a horse? That'd be perfect! Tessa took the leash, and looked around herself. How much did she know of Hill Castle? Barely anything, really. She'd get lost if she just started riding into the woods, and she didn't have a phone or anything either... Plus, going by the etiquette lessons they had, just riding off was pretty mean.

Also… a bit too much time had passed by now…

"Uhm… hi?" Tessa forced a smile. "Yeah, that's me."

"Oh, do you ride?" Cilla leaned forward, petting the brown horse. "I wish I could…"

"Huh?" Tessa loosened her grip. "What do you mean?" Wait no. Tessa wanted to facepalm. So many girls wanted to ride horses, that wasn't special! She should have known that! Why did she ask that?

"Oh, well," Cilla laughed, looking aside, and leaned against the wall of the stable, "I live on a small farm. We've got a few horses and chickens, but I don't actually know how to ride horses. Neither does my family. It's a nice countryside life, but no one ever learned how to ride."

"Oh, I can teach you," Tessa said. Her mouth was faster than her brain. "Wait, what?" Why did she just say that!?

Cilla didn't hear her, or she overlooked it. "Oh, really? That would be awesome! Thank you! That's so sweet of you!" She looked around herself "How do we start?"

Tessa blinked. "I… have no idea?"

/ / /

It was exhausting, to say the least. Tessa decided to see what Cilla already knew. She was dedicated to the horses for sure, but hadn't actually ever ridden one. With the help of the stable boys, they chose a good starting horse for her that Cilla immediately volunteered to help caring for. Tessa smiled at that; Cilla loved horses just as much as she did. That was nice, wasn't it?

Even though Cilla didn't end up sitting on the horse until much later in the evening (and didn't go further than making a few slow rounds around the stable lead by Tessa), they did have a great evening, filled with talking about the evident shared hobby: horses.

"What do you do for work?" Cilla asked curious when they had finished cleaning the stalls (the stable boys had opposed, but both of them insisted) and were heading out to dinner with the others.

"Oh, uh," Tessa hesitated. Theoretically, her work was probably considered as a Seven's work. It wasn't illegal but… there were people who demanded it to be illegal and hold strong disdain towards people doing so… Cilla was a Two, wasn't she? She'd probably dislike it too... Tessa looked down. It was sad, really, but she should have known when she accepted to come. "Nothing. I've been playing with a few ideas, but otherwise, I worked a bit at the store where my mum also works and helped out at a local horse farm… I kinda hope to inherit it, because there's no one else, but otherwise?" The longer she talked, the more the semi-lie felt badly made. "That's it… This is my first real job, and now, being a Three, I look into becoming a vet or something."

"That's so sweet!" Cilla exclaimed. "I don't think I'd be good enough at school to be a vet, and I think I couldn't stand it but… I guess I'm happy with what I'm doing." She looked down, and her bright, happy voice followed.

"What do you mean?" Tessa asked.

"Oh, I guess I should consider myself lucky to be able to work as singer."

"Yes," Tessa hesitated. Was she breaking into Cilla's private space? She didn't want to bother her—that'd be impolite—but she did wonder and…

Cilla interrupted her train of thought. "Okay," she sighed. "Listen. Sorry. But I need to rant about this."

"Uh… sure?"

"So, I do country music. I released a single, and I'm proud of it but the music was kinda… not what I want to write? Like, I had super harsh outlines for what I could do and what I couldn't. Now I'm trying to talk my agent into letting me do something that I enjoy more and all. Something that is really _me_. But my mum is keeping on insisting that I should do pop music instead. Do you see my problem?"

"Uh… no?"

Cilla dropped onto the stone bank at the stable's entrance. "So, basically, country music isn't what's going to get you into the charts and all."

Tessa nodded slowly. "Okay…?"

"And I do country music. I love it. That's me. I'm a country girl, and I do that. Period," Cilla explained with a sigh. Her words were falling out of her mouth like a waterfall—how could she even keep that up? "Mum thinks that I should aim for doing better in the charts and all. That means pop music."

Cilla pulled her legs closer to herself. Oh welp. Did that mean that Tessa needed to be comforting now? How in the world did that work? Oh welp.

"She keeps suggesting to do something like Abby does, or some random other musicians I don't even care about. I want to make my music! Something I love. Something that expresses who I am." She sighed. "My first album was just so much propaganda…"

"Propaganda?" Tessa repeated.

"Uh, yeah," Cilla nodded. "lots of entertainment was heavily focused to anti-uprising propaganda. I mean, yeah, I understand it. I hated the war too. It's terrible, but I didn't want to sing about that. There are other things… not war and peace and whatnot. That's too… heavy for me." Cilla looked to Tessa. "Do you see what I mean?"

Slowly, Tessa nodded. "I… think so?"

"That's why I kinda came here too… I mean, why I wanted to join the Selection, among other reasons. It's good promo I guess, and I was hoping to be able to get a bit of help from Abby…"

Right, Abby Moon being a successful singer-songwriter probably was one big plus for poor Cilla. Tessa nodded. "That sounds like a great idea," she agreed. "Maybe you could ask her opinion on your music?"

"I was thinking that. I couldn't bring my guitar, but I'm sure they have one somewhere…"

"The Queen Mother is very involved with music, isn't she?" Tessa suggested. "I've heard music before here…"

Cilla nodded. "Right! That's a great idea." She sighed relieved. "Really… I've been thinking that coming here for this program was a bad idea but the more I think about it… I'm not going to be 'bothered' by a prince but I still get to work with really cool people!"

Tessa smiled encouraging, but remained quiet. What should she say now? The conversation sounded so 'over'… Maybe go back to horses? But wouldn't that sound a bit too avoiding? She sighed.

"What about you?" Cilla looked to her. "Why did you apply for the Selection?"

"Oh, uh, my mum suggested it…? Plus, it sounded like a nice thing to make friends with… and a bit of an adventure. That's why I decided to come here too. It sounded… interesting? Yeah." Tessa smiled awkwardly.

"Would you have been interested in the Crown Prince?" Cilla wondered.

"Xander Illéa, huh?" Tessa muttered, thinking of the heir apparent to the throne. Was she interested in him? What even did she even know about him? He didn't look too bad, and unlike Prince Louis, he wasn't a bad person, but… She blushed, and Cilla laughed.

"Awww!"

"H-hey!"

"Don't worry, I won't force you to tell me anything," Cilla assured her. A second later, she giggled. "Okay, do tell me! I won't tell anyone. If your mum talked you into this, then do you?"

"I… uh…" Tessa blushed. "Well, I don't know him, so I couldn't say…"

Cilla nodded. "Obviously, so do I. Would you be interested though?"

"I don't know," she repeated again, blushing. "I mean, Princess Sophia is quite nice… If there's anything similar to her, I guess…?"

"Sophia?" Cilla repeated. "Hmm… She's nice, but I'm not sure… It's kinda' off what happened today."

"The miscommunication?" Tessa asked, while carefully picking up one of the light pink roses next to them.

"It sounds more like she forgot a part of the contract, to be honest," Cilla remarked, "but yeah, she seems really friendly. I wish she'd join us a bit more in the lessons."

"Oh, yeah!" Tessa cheered. "That'd be fun." She glanced to the sky. "Hey, do you know about the party others are going to? Are you going?"

"I'm not planning," Cilla admitted. "I'd prefer to go and practise playing, and I don't want to be hungover in the morning tomorrow. Are you going?"

Tessa hesitated. "I… I haven't been clubbing, like, ever. I don't think I'd want to risk being hungover during class tomorrow either."

Cilla smiled. "Do we wanna go and check out the castle then? I heard there's somewhere a room with music instruments. That's where I hope to get a guitar from. Maybe I can teach you a few chords in return for the riding lessons?"

Tessa nodded. "That sounds like a sweet idea," she smiled gratefully. "Let's do that."

/ / /

 **The Goldfinger, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Sawyer Roth**

Oh wow.

Sawyer was used to clubs. Working as a DJ had introduced her to quite a few interesting situations, including lots of drunk stories (and fights, Sawyer was glad that the police usually thought she was a club employee who tried to end it… the fists she threw were only 'self-defence'—then again, it was a bit of a surprise that they hadn't connected her to other stuff yet…) and similar stories.

Kate Blanchard was a new level.

"How… what the—" Minnie, next to her, broke off, glaring at the overly drunk girl.

"That wasn't even… one drink?" Sawyer agreed. Neither of the two had counted how many drinks Kate had, but it felt like one single one. They had just arrived, ordered a first drink while some people (Anastasia Collins, Jaira Phillips, Ami Kennedy, Zarah Baine) had gone over to the dance floor. Sawyer intended to go there as well—Minnie intended to join too—but Kate?

Well, she was… another story.

She had gone from being a giggling mess to asleep now, not mentioning what happened before. She had gone and talking about how she was going to marry Jacob from _Twilight_? What even was that? Some TV show? Sawyer didn't know, and it wasn't her primary concern.

"Should we… I don't know, do _something_?" Minnie asked, still completely sober, just like Sawyer.

Sawyer nodded. "That sounds like a good idea," she admitted. "But what? We took the bus here."

"Do you have the number of anyone at Hill Castle?"

Sawyer shook her head. "I don't have anything on me, except some money."

It was then that a stranger (a guy, looking a bit too young for a club, Sawyer noted) approached them. He was wearing pretty basic clothes and a cap, so Sawyer couldn't recognise him at first, when he looked down at the girl.

"Is she okay?" he asked, genuinely worried. He didn't touch her, but briefly glanced at the half-empty cocktail Kate had drunk. She had just turned eighteen recently, Sawyer had noticed the bartender checking that she was allowed to drink…

"Ehm," Sawyer hesitated. "We don't know. We were just thinking about how we can get her back."

The stranger (who somewhat seemed familiar…?) looked down at Kate. "Do you think she needs to go to the hospital?" he worried. Genuine worry, Sawyer believed, but coming from a stranger… All alarm bells rung.

Sawyer shook her head. "I don't think so. She didn't have much, I think."

The bartender joined them, shaking his head. "Nope, little girl here had just a few drinks. Lightweight, I assume, and a sleep-drunk."

Minnie nodded. "Kate seems like Nereida Statten but a bit shyer," she reminded Sawyer.

"That doesn't tell me anything," the bartender laughed.

"If you think so, I can have my driver take her back. I wasn't planning on staying longer either way… I don't see why he's so found of this…" Mr Mysterious was quietly muttering to himself rather than to someone else, but Sawyer didn't like the suggestion very much.

"Eh," Sawyer shook her head, "sorry, dude, but I'm not going to let some random stranger take her somewhere. I'm not stupid."

The stranger ignored her. "Put her drink on my brother, please. Mine as well."

"On whose?" the bartender laughed.

"I couldn't imagine Xander in a club alongside civilians," the stranger replied bored, before turning to Sawyer. "Apologies—would you mind repeating that?"

"She said that we ain't gonna let some random stranger take her. If you spiked her drink then, dude, you gotta be more creative."

The stranger looked up. "Minerva Whitefield, Sawyer Roth, Ingrid Blanchair."

"What the—?" Minnie called out. "How do you know our names?"

"You are part of Sophy's girls, aren't you?" he asked rhetorically. There was much more harshness in his voice now—he was growing annoyed, Sawyer thought. Why? What in the world had they done besides worrying about their friend?

"Yeah, and you?" Sawyer hissed. "Sorry, but you seem to know our names, who are you?"

"And how do you know Princess Sophia?" Minnie added.

"She's my sister," Louis Illéa deadpanned. Oh.

 _Oh_.

Now that Sawyer looked at the prince, she saw where she recognised him from. Was that why he was annoyed? Because they hadn't recognised him when he evidently was trying not to be caught, considering his cap? (Sawyer was pretty sure that in the limited media she had gotten over the years of the Unrest, she had never ever seen the royal in a sweater (that also looked too large for him), so how was she meant to recognise him?!) She breathed in sharply.

Louis just rolled his eyes. "If you'd like to complain, cue up."

"What?" Minnie asked for Sawyer, who was about to punch him into the face.

Louis shook his head annoyed. "Whatever." He turned away before Sawyer could risk punching the One, and a bulky, dressed in black man headed towards them. They had exchanged a few words. His bodyguard, Sawyer later on presumed, but in this moment, she stepped between him and Kate.

"And you are?" she asked, again, seconds away from throwing punches.

"His Royal Highnesses' bodyguard, Lady Roth. I am to transport Lady Blanchard to the car."

"Isn't he too young to drink?" Minnie asked.

"Yeah, isn't he?" Sawyer supported the question. Weird situation—from what she had heard about Louis Illéa, she didn't mind punching him into the face as well, but now he was gone, and she probably had to wait for another chance or so—or not.

"Last time I checked, soda does not contain alcohol," he replied from the entry. "Now, if you don't mind, please let him to his job." Sawyer bit on her lip. Alright. She didn't want to get thrown back into the claustrophobic Fennley again, without a bit of time outside. She stepped aside. How rare.

The movement from the bodyguard woke Kate up.

"What?" she muttered. "Are you my knight in shining armour?" she slurred at the bodyguard. He was unfazed.

"He's gonna help you get back," Minnie explained hesitant.

"Oh, I dreamt about being in the Selection, and you were there too," Kate completely ignored her, "and you were dressed up as Minnie Mouse, Sawyer was a parrot and—"

"Ma'am," the bodyguard pressed, suppressing annoyance, "please let me escort you out."

"See ya? I'll go and ride into the sunset with Jacob…"

Sawyer watched her unimpressed leave the club, and sighed. "Remind me to, if we ever run into him again, kick him."

"Who?" Minnie asked with a frown.

"Louis Illéa."

Minnie abruptly turned around to her. "Sawyer, you can't just kick a royal! That'll get you into prison!"

Sawyer shrugged it off. "It'd be worth it."

"I'd rather like to know why he knows our names. Why would he be involved into the training programme?

Sawyer nipped on her drink and leaned onto the bar. The bartender had left them long ago, Kate's drink was gone, and they were alone again. Their company on the dance floor hadn't noticed them, evidently. It was now her turn to frown. Yes, why did Louis Illéa know her name? He didn't strike her as someone who'd be interested in it. He was just someone in the background and all…

"Maybe this is the Selection after all, and you're Minnie Mouse," Sawyer joked.

"Who's Jacob then?" Minnie joked.

"I'm… I don't know? Some celebrity she's obsessed with?"

"But seriously—what if it is?" Minnie turned to her.

"This training being the Selection?" Sawyer asked. "Are you drunk?"

"Nah," Minnie shook her head, "but that'd explain the tight schedule and mysterious ending. I checked the contract. It leaves the ending pretty vague. Plus, they said that we were selected based on our Selection application. Abby Moon was a Selected before, this'd be new. Sure, the crappy planning is evidence for it to be just a new thing, but why waste money on it?"

Sawyer hesitated. "That's an idea, yeah, but like… it kinda' sounds a bit fishy to me? Why wouldn't they tell us?"

Minnie shrugged. "Maybe it's a test?"

Yeah, and them running into Louis and the chance to hang around with him was part of it. Sawyer shrugged. "I'm not here to think about work. I want to check out the infamous Goldfinger Club."

"… That reminds me," Minnie pointed out. "I thought I read you need to know someone to get in…"

"Well," Sawyer shrugged, "evidently, we got in without."

"That, or this is Sophia's apology."

"Do you think she's the type to go clubbing?"

"No, but neither is Louis Illéa."

Right, good point. That was indeed fishy. Sawyer took another sip of her drink, when a somewhat familiar face appeared next to them. Jaira Phillips, the biochemist from Whites. One of the three I-TEC girls, Sawyer remembered. Unlike Minnie, the business woman, she developed medicine or something like that.

"An apple juice please," she ordered from the bartender.

"No alcohol for you?" Minnie questioned.

"I don't want to be hungover," Jaira replied straightforwardly.

"Why come to a club if you don't wanna get drunk?" Minnie hummed teasing.

Sawyer frowned. "It's fine if she doesn't want to drink," she reminded Minnie.

"Yes, mum," Minnie replied with a cringe. She turned back to Jaira. "How's the dance floor?"

Jaira shrugged. "I assume everyone is having a good time."

"Assume?" Minnie asked.

"Clubbing isn't among my favourite hobbies."

"Oh."

"Why are you here then? This is, by any means, not mandatory," Sawyer replied. Had she been talked into this? Group pressure? How long had they all been in Angeles—since Friday! That was two days, and they only really met on Saturday. How could that be? "Did someone talk you into it?"

Jaira quietly shook her head. "Curiosity."

"About who?"

"Anastasia Collins."

"The third I-TEC girl," Sawyer remembered. "The red head."

"Yes," Jaira nodded. "She's reacted… quite interestingly to the topic of the Great Unrest."

 _Baam_. The glass shelled into thousand pieces, the drink in it turned into a puddle. Minnie's hand was shaking. Maybe she should have watched Jaira, but Sawyer couldn't help but see the freeze in Minnie's expression, mere seconds before she dropped the glass of beer onto the floor.

An initial moment of surprise later, Minnie broke into tipsy laughter. "Oh, sorry, I must be drunk by now!"

Jaira glanced to her, but made no comment. She waved the bartender (bringing her juice) over, who gave the three girls a slightly annoyed glance, and asked them to make sure that no one stepped into the splitter until he had gotten the mop.

"What do you mean?" Sawyer found herself asking, still following Minnie (who was still giggling). "When?"

"Do you remember us discussing where we were from, and what we worked as? When the topic arose, she seemed quite a bit avoidant about the topic."

"Maybe she's one of many who lost family?"

"It wasn't that kind of avoidant," Jaira shook her head. "But… alright, if you didn't notice, then it maybe was the fatigue. I won't bother you any longer."

"Nah," Sawyer shook her head. "Everyone's welcome."

"Maybe you two could join us on the dance floor instead?" Jaira suggested calmly.

Minnie was faster to respond. "Sounds like a great idea!"

Sawyer nodded, and followed them into the crowd nearby the DJ, where she soon could find the other trainees. Soon, she did run into Anastasia, but from the looks of it? It seemed more like Minnie had something with the Great Unrest than Anastasia did.

Well, they probably all had 'something' with the civil war.

Including the royals.

Damn rebels. Who knew? Maybe she'd get to kick one during this, after all?

/ / /

 **Next Chapter:** »Their respective friends had become bodyguards«


	18. Chapter 17

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Cilla Chamberlain, the country singer-songwriter, and Tessa Evans, the shy horse rider, bounded over their mutual love for horses. Meanwhile, in the club, Kate Blanchard, the naïve fanfiction writer, managed to pass out, leading to Sawyer Roth, the DJ who will fight you and Minnie Whitefield, the party-loving business woman, meeting Louis Illéa, who just happened to be there. Besides that, Jaira Phillips, the calm scientist from Whites, expressed curiosity about Anastasia Collins, a fellow bio-engineer at I-TEC._

 **Chapter 17**

» Wasn't that why she was here now too?«

 **Designated Lesson Room of Hill Castle, Angeles  
** **Euphrosyne** **"Rosy" Tillings**

The lesson ended, and Rosy sighed.

She'd lost count of how many of the girls had fallen asleep (was Veira Schreave ever awake?!), and for the third time today alone wondered why the three kids (two Annies—what a coincidence—and one Owen) were allowed to hang out here. Professor Umbridge gave them regular glares, but something prevented her from speaking up against Isla's niece and Rowan's siblings. Rosy hadn't spoken to them, but everyone (well, almost everyone) loved kids, so Rowan and Isla were at the constant attention from everyone.

Their respective friends had become bodyguards at some time point.

Right now, Kate Blanchard was desperately trying to get Owen (that was Rowan's little brother, the oldest of the three kids) to pay attention to her. She failed; he was hiding behind a book quietly in the corner. Understandable. The two Annies (apparently, they did have different names but both were used to their nicknames, so now it was Rowan's Annie and Isla's Annie… _Sigh_.) were busy trying to play along in the lesson (although, evidently, not always), and were therefore as interesting to Kate as Owen. Well, originally, them drawing a rainbow had been fun—apparently. Now it wasn't.

At least, by now, everyone seemed to have gotten over their hangover.

"Oh, is it over?" Kate wondered next to her.

"I would assume so," she reminded her quietly, in the hope of not being heard.

"Aww," Kate sighed, "that was fun though!"

Rosy wasn't so sure if everyone thought that. There were quite a few girls who seemed to be bothered and bored by their lessons. However, Rosy decided that it was, by no means, something that she intended to deal with. Rosy rose from her chair and picked up the notes she had written.

"So, Rosy, where are you going?"

"Um…" she hadn't exactly decided that. Somewhere, where there weren't any people. That sounded like a nice idea, if nothing else.

"You can join me then!" Kate cheered. "I want to go and check out a few places for research!"

Research? Check out a few places? Join her? Rosy gulped. Yet, before she could even breathe in to say 'No', Kate had already grabbed her hand, and pulled her out of the lesson room, into the direction of… Rosy didn't even know.

"Where are we going?" she managed to ask after turning around three corners.

"I don't know," Kate hummed, and (thank god) stopped. "Anywhere you'd like to go?"

"Not… really?" Rosy sighed. She wasn't exactly planning on going anywhere.

Kate turned around swiftly, looking at each and every one of the walls. She, unlike Rosy, looked like someone who actually wanted to be here, or in the Selection. The training was better than the Selection and the publicity, but… Humans.

"Why… did you pull me along then?" Rosy quietly asked.

"I'm here to make friends! To socialise!" Kate explained bubbly. She smiled brightly.

Rosy forced a smile. "Sure," she pressed out. Except that she probably was going to scare Kate off eventually either way. Without another sentence, Kate grabbed her hand and pulled her along again, but this time, Rosy pulled back. "Sorry, but I have a few other things to do," she insisted.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Kate cheered. "And besides," she turned around and pushed open a door next to them. "It's an adventure—Oh."

Kate stopped within the half-opened door, looking into the room where Veira Schreave, Sophia and Louis Illéa were sitting with what probably were tea cups in their hands. Sophia stopped within the motion, while Louis quietly continued to drink.

"Oh, hello," Veira was the first to speak up, giving a sweet smile.

"S-sorry!" Rosy called out immediately. "Kate and I were not meaning to come in," she replied, glancing at Kate. What about doors being closed meaning do-not-enter again? "Seriously, sorry. Let's—let's just leave."

"Oh, bye!" Veira hummed. Sophia smiled too, but her little brother didn't react.

Rosy slammed—why did she slam the door?—the door close, and rushed around the corner away. Kate followed, less in a hurry. "So, what now?"

"What now?" Rosy repeated indignant. "Look, we were told not to go into rooms with doors closed. That's something that happens everywhere." Even _her_ parents had acknowledged that rule as a child. Even she knew that. "I don't want to be thrown out because someone else just ran into royalty having a tea party and I stood in the wrong place."

"You won't be thrown out," Kate insisted. "This is the Selection. They cannot throw us out—not yet."

"Sorry, but, no, it's not."

"Of course, it is," Kate hummed with the largest lack of guilt that Rosy had seen in anyone's face since her mother had decided to sign her up for the Selection and they had spoken briefly the following morning. Her mother had insisted it was for her best.

"Why would it—"

"Look," Kate stopped and leaned against the wall, "this is obviously the opening for a story. Well, with some failures on Sophia's part. You have the protagonist, the friends, the rivals—like Harriet, Veira, Alex, Leila. They're the rich kids. One of them will surely be that annoying bitch. Maybe Harriet. She commented I was stupid when I had some lessons with Sawyer on missed education." And again, Kate failed to acknowledge the insult. "You have the love interest—like, the prince. Maybe someone else, who knows?"

"… and something tells you that this is a story." Rosy deadpanned. Seriously? A story? This wasn't a story. This was good old reality where things had to go by social rules that you just couldn't entirely gasp without somehow magically knowing them.

"Look, it's obvious, we can go back and ask—"

"Please don't."

Kate decided to hop forward. "You know, let's go and ask."

" _Please_ don't."

She skipped back to the drawing room where the three Ones were having something akin to a tea party. Rosy made a stupid decision—follow Kate, to stop her from getting back. Her naiveté was cute. Childish. Untouched by the world. God, what had she done during the whole of the civil war? Hide in the basement?

This time at least, Kate knocked. "Excuse me?" she hummed.

"Do come in," Sophia replied. "Lady Katheryn Blanchard, is it?"

Kate opened the door, and Rosy behind her froze. Wasn't Kate's full name something else? She had asked to be called Katheryn (since Sophia and the staff insisted on full names…) rather than her first name. They had accepted.

"And Lady Eurosyne, if I remember?" Veira added with a sweet smile. She sat with the two Illéas as if she was one of them. Well, she nearly was either way.

Rosy opened her mouth to correct, but Louis was faster. "Euphrosyne. One of the three graces, Greek. Quite an interesting name."

"It has its charm," Sophia remarked quietly.

"I never objected that."

"Sorry for interrupting," Kate began, as fast as a waterfall, "but I just wanted to check…"

Oh no.

"Katheryn," Rosy began, "look, we shouldn't waste—"

"This is the Selection, isn't it?"

Rosy sighed. The three Ones froze, glancing at Katheryn. Louis was the first to break out of the freezeframe; he took another sip of tea.

"You were right after all," he told his older sister. Whatever that meant. "I admit defeat."

Veira quietly glanced at the two siblings, and Louis gave her a subtle smile. Was he indicating something? Was this court protocol, or some secret social thing? Rosy wanted to just go and ask, but she couldn't—people would just laugh at her. Members of the damned royal family would laugh at her. Not the people who killed her sister.

"Yes, it is," Sophia admitted. "But please do not tell anyone. We're curious who will figure it out."

"Who has?" Rosy wondered, before biting her lip. Why did she ask that? They already looked like they were testing them—they had admitted it! Why wasn't she just quietly moving out, trying to figure out what they were tested on before?

"I do know," Veira began, "and I believe Lady Anastasia Collins does as well?"

Sophia nodded at her. "Grandmother spoke to her a few days ago, and she asked about it."

Kate beamed at Rosy. "There, I told you!" she hummed.

Rosy nodded in return. "We shouldn't bother Their Royal Highnesses any more than we already did, though," she muttered under her breath. Without another word, she pulled Kate out of the room, away from the testing eyes of the prince and princess.

She overlooked Louis' frown.

/ / /

 **Trigger Warning:** Panic attack

 **Hallway of Hill Castle, Angeles  
Irina Cavanah**

Irina Cavanah was a construction manager trainee, former soldier and daughter of a jeweller couple. Andreia Jensen was a police detective who once intended to join the air force and came from a military family.

Neither of them had much experience with how to hold a tea cup before. However, half a week after their arrival in Angeles, that had changed. While some girls spent the evening with a Netflix marathon that had been started by Rosy Tillings as a distraction from stress (who then had been thrown out for predicting the whole plot, ouch), they had been revising notes.

But it was late, and both girls preferred healthy sleep over falling asleep in their lessons.

They were quietly (in case someone was asleep, such as the three kids residing here) talking about this and that when they walked into Minnie Whitefield and Sawyer Roth, who had just come from said Netflix marathon (Irina presumed). Not exactly people Irina had spoken with until now.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"Studying," Andreia replied upright.

Sawyer cringed. "Right, Umbridge was planning a test for tomorrow, wasn't she?"

Minnie shrugged. "It'll be alright," she assured Sawyer. "I can help you if you need me to."

Sawyer nodded vaguely. "So, you've been revising the whole evening?"

Irina nodded. "Of course. We aren't being paid to watch Netflix."

"We aren't being paid to be working twenty-four-seven though," Sawyer replied sharp.

"There are, evidently, results expected of us," Irina reminded them.

"It would be inappropriate to let the royal family's expectations down," Andreia agreed. "Therefore, despite it not being a part of our contract, we decided to make sure that we will perform as expected."

"What have you been doing?" Minnie wondered.

"Meal etiquette as well as a few protocol subjects such as addresses," Irina replied. "What were you watching?"

"They started just some random action movie," Minnie shrugged. "Nothing interesting, really."

"I think it's about the Air Force in America? The country before the country before Illéa? Was it called America? Amurica? Emerica?" Sawyer shrugged. "You get the gist."

"Oh, really?" Andreia asked curious. "I wouldn't mind seeing that, actually. Irina?"

"Sure," Irina nodded. "I like historical movies, maybe it's some good one."

"Well, seems like we are going to watch it, too, after all," Sawyer laughed, shrugging. "Let's go then."

Minnie cringed; nothing that neither of them missed. Irina passed over it for now, and followed Sawyer back to the room that the girls had chosen as a home cinema for the time being. They didn't get so far, though.

 _Bang, bang, bang_ —the sound of guns briefly made Irina jump. Quite a memory of the civil war and the time when she had served. The sound of guns, explosions, and shouts. Irina shuddered, stopped for a moment, but she walked on. She could handle it. For now.

That was, Irina. Sawyer initially wasn't bad off either, and Andreia just walked on. Minnie, however stopped. The young businesswoman of I-TEC had stopped mid-movement, her right hand clutching her white blouse. Stocking, she leaned forward. Minnie gasped for air.

"…Minnie?" Sawyer carefully asked. Minnie didn't respond. Sweat pearled from her forehead. Irina added one and two together. Shots from the movie. Minnie had been a soldier, too.

"I think it might be a panic attack," she warned the other two. Minnie dropped onto the floor, and gasped for air.

Sawyer was next to her quickly, "Hey, Minnie?" No reaction, again. "It's fine, we're here!"

"C-can't breathe," Minnie stuttered.

Andreia shook her head. "This looks to me like a heart attack."

"They look the same," Irina warned. "But yeah, to be safe—Andreia can you get someone?" The blonde nodded dutiful and turned around to get to the closest bell button to call for help. For now, Irina kneeled down next to Sawyer and Irina as well.

"Wait, no," Sawyer insisted. "It'll get _her_ into trouble. Don't make a fuss about it, just get someone. There definitly is a doctor around, though."

Andreia shook her head, and walked off without a comment. Irina glanced at Sawyer, questioning what she meant. Clearly, the moment made her decisions questionable, but she did have one point. This panic attack, or heart attack, could threaten Minnie's chances here.

"Breathe in, breathe out," she instructed Minnie calmly. During her service in the war, she had seen people break down. That probably was helping, because Sawyer didn't look like she had so much of an idea.

That'd change soon.

Sawyer helped Minnie open the top button of her blouse to help her breathe, while Irina continued her breathe-in-breathe-out-rhythm when Andreia returned with a staff member following her quickly.

Without even giving any of the girls a moment to explain. "We've called an ambulance to come here," he announced. It arrived a few minutes later. Minnie's mind was somewhere else, she didn't complain, and Irina and Andreia both knew that they weren't in the position to oppose. There was no reason either way.

/ / /

 **Entrance to Hill Castle, Angeles  
Sawyer Roth**

Sawyer had only overheard the information that Minnie was coming back already. Close to midnight, she hadn't spent much time at the hospital. Going by the quiet hushes she had been able to hear, it didn't seem to be anything requiring medical attention. Now, she was waiting at the entrance ever since hearing a car approaching in the distance, alongside Sophia and, to her surprise, the Queen Mother. Helena hadn't spent much time around the girls; she was surprised by that.

"Oh, hi," the tired Minnie muttered when she recognised the two royals. A half-assed curtesy later, Sophia gave her a gentle smile.

"I'm glad that you are healthy," she replied. Healthy? Sawyer snorted. Panic attacks didn't sound very healthy; she had seen enough breakdowns during the rebel occupation of her hometown… "Physically, at least," Sophia added, prompted by Sawyer. She didn't show an inch of lack of confidence, though.

Minnie forced a smile, overlooking Sophia's awkward comment. "Yeah, I'm sorry for the inconvenience, your highness."

"I'm confident you didn't do it on purpose," Helena replied. "Please, do come and talk to us if there's anything we can do."

"Hm." Minnie nodded, passing by the princess and heading right towards the direction of the girls' stay. Sawyer didn't even get to say something. Sophia briefly glanced at her, before turning around and stepping inside. Was she going to follow her? Helena placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't, love," the Queen Mother replied. "I've spoken to the hospital staff; from the sounds of it, she won't talk to you."

Sophia gave her a confident smile. "It'll be fine, I'm good at comforting people, grandma."

"Minerva is not your brother."

Which brother? Sawyer glanced between the two royals. She definitely wasn't considered part of the conversation. Neither of them was apparently paying attention to her. Something in her wanted to speak up on that alone, but then again, there was Minnie, and Minnie needed help. She was her friend, after all.

"Please excuse me," Sawyer replied, curtsied briefly and headed towards the stairs where Minnie had gone. She rushed, and caught up to her quickly. She caught up with her by the time Minnie had walked up the stairs towards the girls' hallway.

"Hey, wait—" Sawyer told Minnie, who had stopped either way.

Long-Greek-Name "Rosy" Tillings and Katheryn "Kate" Blanchad were standing in the hallway, and had gained Minnie's attention. Well, actually, Rosy seemed to be chased by Kate, or vice-versa.

"Stop her!" Kate called out. So, it was Kate chasing Rosy.

"What?" Sawyer blurted.

"Seriously, Kate, no. Leave me alone. I have better problems to do."

Kate groaned. "Come on, Rosy! The Selection will be fun, and besides, if you really want to leave so badly, then I'm sure that the Crown Prince will let you. You just gotta try and enjoy it. Give it a chance?"

"What?" Minnie asked now.

"I don't care," Rosy almost hissed, "I don't want everyone to stalk me and take pictures. You might like that, but I. Do. Not."

"Selection?" Minnie asked.

"Stalk you?" Sawyer repeated.

"Oh," Kate turned to them, "Rosy doesn't want to be part of the Selection."

"The lottery hasn't been—" Minnie began.

Kate shook her head. "Nah, it has been. This is the Selection, obviously."

"… No?" Sawyer shook her head. "Sorry, but it's a lady-in—"

"Oh, that's a ruse. Princess Sophia assured us."

"… Okay?" Sawyer glanced to Minnie, who was slowly shaking her head.

"Sure, whatever floats your boat," Minnie muttered, and turned aside to enter her room.

She pushed herself through the door leading to her room. The door nearly crashed into Sawyer's face, but she stopped it just in time to avoid running headfirst into it. She pushed it slightly open to find Minnie already crashed on the sofa, glancing up.

"You're okay?" Sawyer asked.

Minnie cringed beneath the brown hair that was falling over her face. Sawyer could barely see her face. Like a sleepy, moody teenager, Minnie sat up, and glared at her. She breathed out, pushing one of the hair strands out of her face. Sawyer sat down.

"Uh, yeah," Minnie pressed out. Sawyer crossed her legs and decided to look into Minnie's eyes. She didn't avert her gaze, so it didn't make her too comfortable. She worried; something was wrong with Minnie, and she wanted to know if there was anything she could do. She had to. It was an instinct that she always went through with.

"What happened today?"

Now she averted her gaze. Something was wrong after all. Minnie had mentioned before that she was a soldier, Sawyer had already thought about PTSD. This probably didn't look good to the royals, but that wasn't her primary worry (also, what was that with the Selection?) right now. "I had a panic attack, as you and Cavanah suspected."

"And?"

"It's just… some bad memories."

"Of the war?"

"Hm." Minnie looked down, going for the beer can on the table. Sawyer frowned. Minnie took a sip, before looking at Sawyer again, noticing that she was still there. She nodded at the unopened can of beer—was that an offer? Sawyer wasn't exactly in the mood to get drunk…

"What happened?" she asked. What had been going on? They had just left the movie night after Minnie remarked that she was bored and wanted to go to sleep. Irina and Andreia had met them, and they had talked about the movie—the war one.

The gunshot sounds, of course.

"The gun shots?" she concluded. It hadn't been a nice sound to her either (she knew it far too well), but for Minnie, it must had been a whole other situation. Sawyer bit on her lip. "Bad memories of service?"

Minnie shrugged. "It's nothing."

"The rebels were damn scary," Sawyer remembered. "That isn't nothing, Minnie."

"Hm."

"Where were you stationed?"

"… Fennley. Fathom."

"Well," Sawyer huffed, "welcome to the club."

Minnie glanced up to her. "Right, you're from Fathom, aren't you?"

Sawyer nodded. Fathom was, as far as she knew from one of her brothers who worked in the military, infamous among soldiers for the rebels that had taken control over the city for two years. Two years of almost anarchy, rebels not having any idea on how to run the city, electricity and water breaks… For two years, Sawyer hadn't attended school because no one paid the teachers. For two years, food, electricity, and water, were things that could disappear anytime. For two years, rebels made fun of handicapped people, played themselves up as heroes and committed crimes much worse.

"I was dismissed after the nightmares got too bad and I couldn't fight anymore," Minnie admitted, her eyes now down to the beer can. "I really don't want to talk about it, Sawyer."

She could understand. So many people she knew from home didn't want to talk about these two years. So many people had left the city when there were too many bad memories. Wasn't that why she was here now, too?

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **We all love Abi, because she had a lot to do for this chapter lmao.**

 **Next Chapter:** »Did I tell you about my Twilight Cinderella AU?«


	19. Chapter 18

**Fallout**

 _In the past chapter, Rosy Tillings, the shy introvert, and Kate Blanchard, the extroverted fanfiction writer, clashed together, and learned of the truth behind the training. Andreia Jensen, the law-following police detective, and Irina Cavanah, the former soldier-LotR fan, befriended and ran into Minnie Whitefield, the party-loving business woman, and Sawyer who will fight you, with the former having a panic attack triggered by war-induced PTSD. Sawyer and Minnie speak about Fathom, one of the cities hit worst by the civil war._

 **Chapter 18**

» Did I tell you about my Twilight Cinderella AU? «

 **Hill Castle, Angeles  
Princess Sophia as Illéa**

Following a day of accompanying the wife of the New Asian president, Sophia returned back to the castle very late. Accompanied by the Queen Mother, the two had taken over what should have been her mother's role in accompanying the New Asian first lady. They kept up the facade, but that was about as well as it went. With the Selection going on, her mind went back and forth, again and again contemplating issues.

For example, how much budget should they allocate for dresses? She wanted to make the Selection—this all!—to be great. The fairy-tale people dreamed off, the magical image of royalty, but then again, all these girls would be adored by the public either way, so why bother…?

It wasn't too late—not for being a Thursday with its quick changes in what had to be recorded for the _Report_ either way—and she had one more meeting scheduled for today. With all going on, she wasn't sure how to think about it.

Helena and Sophia Illéa arrived in the designated meeting room half an hour later. Sophia had recovered from a tiring day of speaking Mandarin, when neither Xander nor her father could say much more than hello. Thankfully, Louis had been around to aid her with avoiding questions on the tensions between New Asia and the British Empire's re-emerged fight on Hong Kong. Going by Louis, that was a thing of times before the magnet field shift! Ridiculous!

Sophia sighed quietly when she sat down. Politics and territorial debates (should the people's wishes, who was most powerful or international laws on war and what not be of greater importance? What was next—debates whenever climate change is real?) were one thing, talking about dresses and clothes another. Sophia definitely preferred the later. Yet, now…

The chief stylist who had been in charge of supervising the creation of the Selected's first load of dresses gave her account. Everything had been made; the girls would be ready to do the fitting tomorrow, and based on their opinions on the currently produced clothes (enough for a week, hopefully—Xander insisted on not doing much more; ten girls would leave either way), the budget was working.

Maybe, because as of now, Sophia decided to interpret Xander's 'one hundred thousand dollars maximum' as one hundred thousand for each girl, not for everyone. Did he know a thing about clothes?

The teachers gave their reports on the girls' process; by the sounds of it, they had the basic etiquette down. Instead of focusing on further details related to the ball, they wanted to look at media training first. The girls with debatable education (Sophia's worries were Sawyer, Zarah, Rowan, Katheryn and Nereida in particular) had caught up on certain subjects (not all—Sophia genuinely didn't care whenever the girls knew how the periodic table worked as long as they didn't doubt that it made sense….) and were doing fine.

"Before you start with the media training," Helena remarked, "I'd like to talk to the girls for one lesson, about history."

Sophia looked at her grandmother surprised. "History? They have the tutors for high school ed…"

Helena shook her head. "History of our family, darling."

"But not of the—"

"It is time to speak about it," Helena replied. "I have yet to discuss this with Adrian, but it's not his tale to tell either way. It's mine. It's the tale of Helena, Henry and Phillip."

"But what if—"

"If someone leaks it?" Helena finished her sentence. "Then we call them a liar, arrest them for lèse-majesté and replace them. Better now than when their names get public."

Still, she didn't _particularly_ want the girls to know how the whole country would act if they learned the true story concerning her great-uncle, Phillip Illéa's passing.

"Grandmother, I believe that—"

"It's a decision made already, Sophia."

Sophia knew her place. Even though she would definitely ask her father to intervene, she couldn't see him actually speaking up to his mother. Maybe Jonathan would speak up, but he was all occupied with the military and getting Adrian back to work… Great. How functional things were!

"I would like to give the girls the day off following the explanation," Helena continued. "After that, I'd recommend scheduling the dress fitting. Depending on the time, I could see having the first dance lesson on that day too. I might ask them to come and have my talk on Saturday. I'd be nice to see who will come."

Another test, Sophia realised. She nodded accepting. Who'd come and listen? What about Veira? She probably knew something about the history of the royal family… Maybe she could give her a hint, so she would show up for sure. Leila… well, she had changed since the last time they had met, prior the Unrest.

The meeting found its (almost) end, and with it, the final summary of the upcoming days was due. "The etiquette plan will only begin once the media training is completed," Sophia said. "We will explain the truth tomorrow, and have the dress fitting. Hopefully, first dance lessons. On Monday, we will begin media training as well as further dance training. We will begin event planning once the media training is over, and focus on the visit of the Savoys;, but until we have ultimate agreement, we will not disclose any information on the exact event."

Nods. Agreements. The meeting was ended—almost. The doctor that the royal family employed, Doctor Kaydence Strange, and the siblings' favourite nurse, Gummy Bear, remained. They had indicated their desire to speak to the two royals beforehand, so Sophia had invited them to the meeting. Yes, Abby didn't like them in the secret meeting, but they were nice, and it saved time for her.

Sophia believed to know what was going on.

"We've gone through the medical files again, and the treatments recommended," Strange explained. "Mostly, there are no issues. Some girls have a bit of a lack of vitamin, but adequate nutrition and supplements will help with that, as discussed before." She knew that.

"There are a few girls where I am concerned though, because they've outrightly refused treatment, and one due to the condition being hereditary."

"Huh?" Sophia leaned forward. "Hereditary?" She tilted her head. _Who, again?_

"Deylin Reyes. She has a heart condition, passed on by her father," Gummy explained. The two hadn't been comfortable initially with sharing the girls' medical information, but all had signed the agreement to share it with the royal family, and both knew that this was, ultimately, a matter of national importance, Sophia insisted. "Her father, going by the information you have on her, passed away from it as well. It's nothing that can't be handled, but I can see Xander being concerned with this."

"What do you mean with 'being handled'?" Helena folded her hands on her lap, her face unreadable.

"Medication can suppress the symptoms, but she also has ADHD. We're not sure if that's hereditary in this case," Strange replied. "High stress in particular isn't good for the condition, and we all agree that life as royal _is_ stressful." An implication to her brother? Probably. Did she want to concern about that now? No; she had thirty-five girls to worry about and—

 _But if it's not me, nobody's gonna do something..._

Sophia looked down at Deylin's file. Why hadn't they noticed this before? She missed why they had taken her in the first place, but they should have known this… She looked aside. She didn't want to throw out Deylin for something she couldn't control. But on the other hand… did she have a chance in the first place?

"We will discuss this with Xander," Helena decided. "We might counsel you on this again. Thank you for warning. Has she opposed treatment?"

Gummy shook her head. "No. She is taking medication, and despite having had a debatable diet in the past, the kitchen can control that. They have strict orders on that. I'm a bit worried about exercise though; she seems to enjoy running."

"Good," Helena nodded. "At least she appears to be following orders well."

"We're checking regularly on her, no particular worries as of now," Strange added. "I would prefer her to see cardiologic specialist once at least."

Sophia nodded. "If you have references, do tell us. We'll have it arranged. What are the other cases?"

"Gabriella Jespersen, Minerva Whitefield. Gabriella per se doesn't have any threatening issues," Strange explained, "but we are concerned that she might be disadvantaged due to her disability and wheelchair. She refuses prophesises."

"That," Helena replied, "is Gabriella's decision in this case. In Minerva's case, I assume it's the panic attack?"

"The hospital staff assumes it's PTSD from the time she served. It fits with the records of her dismissal as soldier," Gummy explained. "Again, the same case. She doesn't want to talk about it, and we need that to help her with it. It doesn't threaten her ability to, so to say, produce an heir, but it would endanger her ability to act as Queen, I assume."

"Any recommendations?"

"We are no mental health professionals," Strange reminded her. "Any decision I would make, I would want the input of a psychiatrist, but with Irina and Gabriella both also being veterans, I assume having a psychologist or a similar professional would be very helpful in general—for the stress too. His Royal Highness' psychologist could—"

"I will have it organised," Sophia assured. She'd do that later. "Anything else?"

"Nothing that cannot be controlled with nutrition and vitamin supplements, I believe." Gummy smiled, glad. They had expected worse. Little did she know that some things would come to change.

/ / /

 **Grand Hall of Hill Castle, Angeles  
Leda Conner**

Sure, the girls had been told that they were asked to be present in the Grand Hall rather than the normal lesson room, but it _still_ sounded fishy, considering how little information Umbridge had given them. Rowan had been torn between guessing a sudden announcement of another contract error or something similar.

Leda and Rowan were relatively early there, taking one of the more comfortable seats. Rowan's siblings were still asleep (thank God, they were cute but took so much of Rowan's attention) so they were speaking about economics. Rowan was keen to learn; with her new caste, she definitely didn't want to go back to farming.

Leda saw a spark, but the lack of education was _quite_ noticeable.

"It sounds interesting," Rowan had explained. "It's nothing like I've ever known before."

When they first had spoken about what to do next, Rowan had pointed out that she enjoyed playing the piano and considered going into composing, but Rowan had warned her. She wasn't too likely to make enough money to be able to afford Owen and Annie a better life.

Being a Seven, Rowan had never been exposed to anything else, so this was a new challenge. Leda was happy to introduce her to the stock market, but reminded her that stockbrokers were Fours. That, now, was 'below' her. Rowan huffed at the idea.

"What do you plan to do after this?" Unspoken, Rowan knew that Leda had no intention of staying in Angeles forever. "Besides your family business?"

"Hmm…" Leda paused. "I'm not sure. Try to get further up in a good company, maybe. You could go for being a teacher."

Rowan glanced aside. "I wouldn't want to know that I'm teaching kids things when they can lawfully not use them."

Leda nodded. "That makes sense. Besides—"

"Rosy!" Someone (Kate) called out, loud enough for everyone to turn their heads. Kate was trying to get the attention of Rosy Tillings, waving a laptop in her arm. Leda could see the cringe in Rowan's face. That laptop was expensive, and she waved it around like a flag. "Listen! 'A fog thickened over Cranespeak as village folk awoke to terrifying screams.' I found this in my notes; doesn't it sound incredible? Do you think I could base my new fanfic on this?"

"I'm sure _we_ don't need terrifying screams," someone else (Harriet) hissed. Harriet Tailor was sitting next to Veira Schreave, and visibly annoyed by Kate's shouting. "Do keep your voice down, Blanchard." Veira was napping, again.

"Hey," Alex Valentino rose. "No need to shout at her."

Rowan shook her head disappointed. "I'm not going to say anything. I'm not going to say anything," she muttered.

"Agreed." Leda nodded. Harriet (with a polite, less aggressive Veira) tended to clash a lot with Alex (and Leila as well). Leda had lost count on how often they had ended up in a catfight, but she wasn't particularly interested in counting either. It was a miracle that they hadn't been thrown out yet… But then again, Sophia had never been around, and Umbridge didn't seem to care as long as they listened in class.

"Good morning!" The bright, cheerful voice of Sophia Illéa echoed in the grand hall. As usual, she smiled, as if the growing argument had passed her entirely. Probably, it had. "Thank you all for coming!"

"Hm," Rowan huffed. "As if we had a choice." Fortunately, she kept her voice down.

"Rowan," Leda whispered. "Later, okay?"

She gave her a vague nod back; enough acknowledge for Leda. While Sophia seemed to count whenever everyone had arrived, Leda straightened her back. Mostly, Sophia had only been around for announcements. What was it this time? She couldn't imagine Miss Fairy-tale Princess to waste time with potential ladies-in-waiting.

"Now, I'd like to elaborate on a few questions that I've been asked and that hadn't been addressed. I'd also like to explain a few further things, and will begin with the fact that I am still very grateful that you all are here and have been so dedicated. I know very well from my own lessons that things can be an annoyance, and I'm glad to know that you all have made very good progress."

Leda couldn't help but wonder what else Sophia had learned. Sure, the civil war had probably influenced her education as well, but what did it mean for her? She probably hadn't spent the twenty-years of her life studying. Surely, she had wasted much time with social seasons. Leda frowned. She remembered her old mentor talking about how much time the royal family wasted with social outings.

"I have to be honest; we've lied a bit."

"Lied?" Rowan repeated quietly. She shook her head. "Probably more not-asked-a-lawyer."

"This is not a training for ladies-in-waiting. That process will follow patterns it has followed in the past."

"What then?" Irina Cavanah asked. She was leaning against the wall among the last, next to Andreia Jensen, but had spoken up loud enough for them to hear. Leda agreed with her question—what else was this?

"It's the Selection," Sophia replied.

Silence.

Oh. Leda frowned. The Selection, yeah, why else would they waste so much time on training girls if it wasn't for their little showcase on selecting a queen. Had they mentioned that? Leda didn't entirely remember the contract she had signed by heart, but it had carefully omitted the word 'lady-in-waiting' (it also referred to her as 'participant'). They had narrowly avoided issues there.

Of course, the royal family didn't exactly answer to any court…

"Apologies for the stories, but a part of the reason why we did this was to sort out candidates who were, well, inadequate. It was, so to say, a test."

Like the Sloth girl, or the one with the rainbow pixie haircut? Leda hadn't seen them around anymore, so that probably was one of the cases. So, this had been a test after all. Leda turned her head to Rowan whose hand had balled to a fist. She looked down.

"Are you alright?" Leda asked.

"I wouldn't have minded the Selection but if this was a test…"

"I think we've passed. Telling us this wouldn't have been adequate otherwise."

"I thought the Selection was a lottery?" Isla Woodley (without her Annie by her side) inquired.

Sophia turned to her. "It is not. I do admit that one province was randomly chosen, but for most of it, the Selected are selected, as the name implies."

"So, you lied?" Andreia asked.

"Yes," Sophia replied straightforwardly. The happy hum disappeared. Was she serious for once? "We do lie with a lot of things, when they are for the better."

"Better?" Someone in the crowd of girls huffed. It was Rosy. Leda saw her cross her arms.

Sophia nodded. "Yes. For example, the attack on the military. If that had become public, panic would have happened. It didn't; people didn't even realise, and we were able to fix it without having to worry about that… Oh. I wasn't meant to say that." She shrugged.

"Military?" Rie in her wheelchair repeated.

Sophia sighed. "If we're already onto it… Briefly before the rebels kidnapped my dear sister Victoria and my cousin Lucia, the Illéan military was hacked by the rebels. It caused a lot of havoc, and resources were taken from the Royal Guard to assure that the military wouldn't be able to protect the civilians adequately." A shadow fell on her face. The plan had backfired, evidently.

No one dared to say something about Victoria. Leda wasn't so sure about that either (the rebels, despite what they did, had never been in her equation of things) and she knew better than to break the silence first. That wasn't the type of attention she needed.

"Either way," Sophia shook her head, "yes. This month is a form of catching up. During my father's Selection, many of the Selected struggled with being behind due to differences in socioeconomic background. This month is to assure that everyone has an equal chance."

"Isn't the Selection about love?" Kate bounced up and down on her heels, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Sophia deadpanned. "Don't tell anyone I said this—particularly not Xander—but I do need your help on that," she chuckled, looking down.

"What do you mean?" Leila Sinclair asked.

"Xander… is… I doubt he's ever had a girlfriend." Leda chuckled alongside many of the girls. "So yeah… You'll see, I guess." Sophia took a pause. "Well, yes. The plans you know for the next weeks are round about the same—although today will be fun—and for the end, you all are to join us in my home, the Illéa Palace. You will move in the end of March. The—well, your—names will be announced on the Friday before, as publicly known; the weekend will be busy with preparations, and I'm sure you'll find time to talk to your families then, too." She stopped for a moment. "That is—if _anything_ of these things leaks out," she warned, "then I can assure you that it was your last day in the castle. We do have security measures, but do me the favour, and don't even try."

Their security measures hadn't protected the military, she thought. She smiled bitterly. Something told her, Sophia's threat was either naively made empty, or the royals had something else in the back of their hand.

Sophia did briefly go on with details (less threatening on information leak) and took questions (ranging from "Can I tell my mum?" from Tessa to "I didn't sign up for this, I don't want to" from Rosy; neither of them got answers they liked) before continuing with explaining today's programme.

Leda deadpanned.

She really expected more than this.

/ / /

 **In the midst of too many dresses, Hill Castle, Angeles  
Euphrosyne "Rosy" Tillings**

Rosy cringed. Next to her, Kate was nearly buried with dresses, and seemed to be having the time of her life. Besides the fact that she just had been told that she was lawfully obliged to participate in a reality TV show, Rosy wasn't too much into the dresses.

"But look at them!" Kate called out. "We'll look like real princesses! Like in _Red Queen_ , or _Cinderella_! Did I tell you about my Twilight Cinderella AU?"

Rosy didn't bother to respond. Kate was already going on about yet another fanfiction (how many had she written?) that she didn't know about. Rosy enjoyed reading, but she was much more interested in literature that was a tiny bit more challenging than _Young Adult_ … But alright, talking about writing _was_ fun.

While she was still wearing a pants suit, she hadn't found any clue towards any possibility of pants. All these dresses were a sea of fabric—and they were only meant to last a week! How many different dresses were they going to need? What was going to happen to all these?

"I'm no economics professor, and even I know that's ridiculous," Rosy muttered. "They will never be able to afford so much."

"I agree with you, and I have an economics degree," Leda Conner remarked. Rosy hadn't exchanged a word with her, and her sudden comment made her flinch. Oh gosh, had she seen her standing around and staring at the dresses, rather than going through them, filling out the checklist and trying them on? Had anyone noticed that she really needed to use the toilet? She couldn't leave now—not until she had done everything and other people had left so it didn't look like she was trying to get out or run away or just get rid of the work or wasn't interested or mean or pretentious. Surely, she must look like an idiot who couldn't even do a thing, or worse—

Rowan interrupted her train of thought. "Hey, Tillings," she began, "have you seen my sister? I think she disappeared between you and Blanchard's trail."

Rowan and Leda tended to stay to themselves, plus the two kids that seemed to belong to Rowan. Rosy hadn't spoken a word to any of the four. Well, okay. She hadn't exchanged more then the bare minimum with anyone except Kate who kept coming back.

As much as Kate managed to push her into one terrible situation after the other, at least she had someone to talk to, huh?

"No, sorry," she pressed out. "I'll look outside."

Rowan nodded to her. "Cool, thanks."

Rosy turned to her own trail, and took a deep breathe. Until Kate was done with pretending to be Cinderella, she needed to get going. Being the last to finish sounded wrong. People would wonder why she was taking so much time. Maybe they'd think that she was trying to get attention by working slowly or be very careful or was just too stupid to do the job or was too busy with fooling around or—

"Ooh, I like this one!" Kate declared.

Right. Dresses.

While judging them (Rosy did point one or two things out, but what had been delivered fitted well with what she had stated on the day of their arrival) she worked fast. Get done with it. Rosy glanced around. People were moving around, going off to change. Good. She could grab a day dress and walk off to the toilet.

Rosy took the chance, but stopped when she saw Rie Jespersen and Irina Cavanah block the middle of the hallway just out of the room they had been in. She couldn't pass them, not when they seemed to be having a private discussion! I'd look like she was eavesdropping! Rosy hid behind a corner.

"Besides that, no, nothing," Irina replied. "I miss my brother, but what can I do? He's dead, gone. No need to mourn him."

"That's how I feel about walking," Rie replied blunt. "No need to mourn; there's better stuff."

"Were there any conscripts in your family?"

Rie shook her head. "No, my dad was too old, and I'm an only child—if you don't look at the dog. I volunteered, obviously."

"How come?"

"How come you did?" Rie dared.

"The rebels are—were—crazy. Kidnap a child, kill another? I'd prefer serving our country. I evidently made the right choice—we won. Plus… yeah."

What? "Serving our country?" The government was killing the citizens! They had murdered Rosy's sister, and blamed it onto the rebels, like everything else! They were taking chances of young hopeful children systematically but teaching them that they didn't need to know even the basics of education, and should just go onto farms! How could Irina think that? How could she agree with that?

Irina shrugged. "As you know, my brother was conscripted. Evan's a sweetheart. He was going to be lost on the battlefield. I wanted to help him."

Rie frowned. "But you weren't sent to the same places?"

Irina shook her head, she almost laughed. "I don't even know where he was sent. I went to Carolina, and initially, I think it was Angeles for him, but that's it. No more communication—we never even learned what he had been doing when he died. There were _heaps_ of miscommunication."

"Maybe because of that hack the princess mentioned," Rie noted.

"I was thinking that too, yeah."

"I heard from a neighbour that they had been told that their son died. He called them a week later."

Irina nodded, looking down to the floor. It looked weird enough, with Rie sitting in her wheel chair, but Irina also looked like she suddenly had feelings. How unusual. Her normal confidence? Gone. Her normal coldness? Gone. The intimidating air around her? Gone.

"We… hoped for that, but he never picked up contact. Evan would absolutely do that, wouldn't he?"

"Probably."

Rosy shook her head in disappointment. Rie and Irina stroke her as realistic people. Down to earth, not a dreamer like Kate who probably believed in unicorns. It was obvious to her that there was a spark of hope in their conversation, they just undermined it—and if Rosy could see that, then they had to waste tons of energy onto pretending it wasn't there!

"Oh, Lady Tillings, hello," a voice called.

Rosy physically recoiled. She had been caught eavesdropping. That was what she wanted to prevent! What was she going to say? She had gotten lost? Impossible; the girls had been residing in Hill Castle for two weeks by now, and besides that, she was holding one of the dresses too!

Andreia Jensen and Deylin Reyes had noticed her standing at the corner. From whatever conversation they had been having, they had come over to her.

"Are you alright?" Deylin asked with a frown. "You look startled."

"Oh, uh," Rosy shook her head, "I'm fine—sorry."

"It's fine. Did something happen?" Andreia asked.

"No, no, not at all!"

Now, Andreia frowned. "You don't sound like 'nothing' happened."

"I swear, everything is fine!"

"You're sweating," Deylin pointed out. "Either something did happen, or you're not 'fine'."

Rosy twitched. Oh no, she had noticed. What could she tell them though? Getting lost was impossible by now (it had been on the first day—the palace wasn't a labyrinth!) and what else could she have been doing than eavesdropping on them?

"I'm fine," Rosy forced a smile again, "just… looking for…"

"The toilet?" Deylin guessed. "Understandable. I walked into Blair Willow who was changing. I could have sworn that that was my room. It's that way," she pointed towards the hallway. "Oh, hey Rie!" Rie looked up to them, and nodded as acknowledgement.

"But, if you're not feeling well, you might want to tell the staff that. It could be an issue during the dance training."

Deylin shook her head. "They're not doing it. There's a whole second load of clothes for each of it. I overheard two people talking; the time frame was far too small."

"I'm glad to hear that," Rosy admitted. "Thank you, I'll leave then…"

She didn't leave immediately (instead, she stared at the girls hoping any form of response or something. She didn't get anything; Deylin and Andreia just smiled at her. And smiled. And smiled. And smiled.

Rosy's lips moved up, mirroring that smile. She clutched the dress closer, and slowly walked backwards. A step, another, a near trip over her dress heels. Deylin and Andreia didn't react. Another step, another one and she twirled around herself, rushing towards the toilet.

She did need to go there. Rosy also needed to figure out that bunch of dresses. Talk to the staff about the heels she didn't exactly plan to wear every day was another thing. Rosy shuddered. First, toilet.

And if she was on it, maybe explain Irina and Rie how wrong they were. At some point. After she had read that fanfiction Kate was pushing at her.

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **Thanks to Abi for beta-ing 3**

 **Next Chapter:** Gregory Illéa was a jerk. A genius, but a jerk.


	20. Chapter 19

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Sophia discussed some girls' health, including the worries they have on Deylin Reyes's heart condition and Rie Jespersen's refusal to use prosthetics. Her grandmother insists on talking to the girls about family secrets._

 _Later on, the girls discover that they are actually in the Selection and about the military having been hacked six years ago. Leda and Rowan don't react as strongly as Rosy Tillings, who ends up listening to a short conversation between former soldiers Rie Jespersen and Irina Cavanah, who talk about the war and Irina's brother who passed away._

 **Chapter 19**

» I will phrase it like this. Gregory Illéa was a jerk. A genius, but a jerk.«

 **Orange Sitting Room, Hill Castle  
Leila Sinclair**

Leila had come because it had been recommended by her mother. Sophia had tried to reconnect to her, but honestly, even when Sophia and Leila once had been somewhat friends so many years ago, it felt off. Not when she _knew_ that Sophia had spent the whole war in Waverly, probably just going in with her life as usual.

Even Louis was better with handling responsibilities than her. Philanthropy or not, it wasn't going to make much of a difference.

That probably was the reason why Leila (and by extent Alex) had been avoiding Veira and Harriet entirely, even when particularly Veira tried to reconnect with her. too. Leila just couldn't. Not when they were a beautiful reminder for her parents and their apparent mission to marry her to that jerk.

"I'm surprised your mum was so extremely into 'Yeah, sure, we can move the ultimatum' when you told her," Alex remarked. Just like Leila, she hadn't mentioned a word about the Selection. She didn't want to get into trouble, but ever since the news dropped, Alex was much, much less invested into the prospect of the Selection.

"I wouldn't put it past her to know that it's the Selection after all," Leila admitted. "I'm pretty sure that Veira knew…"

Alex bit on her lip. New-rich, old-rich, it didn't matter to Leila. Hell, rich or poor, that made no difference. Yet, it surprised her that Veira openly welcomed Harriet as her primary choice of company. Sure, there was no one who could match up with being a One besides Sophia (who was around often enough), but Harriet was still new-rich…

Said girls were sitting at a table in the Orange Sitting Room, talking over a cup of tea. Some other girls had joined, but the only thing Leila remembered from them was that they were nothing but rich girls. From the sounds of it, they probably couldn't tell the difference between North and South.

"What do you think the Queen Mother wants from us?" Alex asked. She didn't bother to look up from her phone (Leila didn't mind), where she was scrolling through Tumblr posts. Leila long ago noticed the watchful eyes of the servants, but she doubted that Alex wanted to gain attention by claiming to be in the Selection. She seemed avoidant of that enough on her own…

"We'll see," Leila replied worried. She wasn't sure what to think of the Selection herself. It would keep her mother off her for the moment, but she had met Xander before. That was ages ago, and she honestly doubted that he was the same as he was when he was fourteen years old. Hopefully it'd keep her mum away for long enough but… Leila knew the outcome of the Selection, even for those who didn't win.

Not particularly her taste.

"Good evening, everyone."

Helena startled Leila, who thought of herself to have good sense. The Queen Mother stood in the middle of the room, and from the looks of it, only a few had noticed her arrival until she had spoken up. An echoing choir of hesitant "Good mornings" followed, as Helena invited them to sit down together closer, so she could talk to all of them closely.

"I'm glad to see that some people were indeed interested to come today," she remarked.

Leila glanced around. Who had come? She had noticed Veira and Harriet before, saw Rie Jespersen in her wheelchair, and her heart-condition friend, Deylin Reyes. Leda Conner, to whom she hadn't spoken a word she could remember, was, for once, not accompanied by Rowan and her two siblings. The other girl with a sister (or something like that…) wasn't present either. She noticed Nereida Statten, the girl who didn't know who Princess Sophia was, with her friend, Blair Willow. She was glad to notice that she was learning names. So many names… She barely recognised all girls who were present. Kate Blanchard hadn't pulled her friend, the shy Rosy Tillings with her.

Tillings… The name rung a bell as well. Alex mentioned that they was another family of new-rich. Another one she hadn't spoken to.

"I do acknowledge that I am taking your time, but I am glad you are here to listen to me," Helena began. "One of you thirty-five girls," She left out that quite a few weren't present. "will be part of my family, and while I do not plan to interfere with this, I have gone through the same process. This training did come from my experience during Henry's Selection."

Henry. Henry Illéa. Such a distant name that Leila barely even recognised any more. She wasn't the best at history. Even if Leila had been a good student, this hadn't been her greatest strength.

"Today, I would like to talk about two things. Maybe only one, if we don't have the time since I do need to leave at some point—but I would like to talk about my experience in the Selection, as well as the history of the family I married into. This will be a bit of a history lesson, but from a personal standpoint."

Was this another quiet threat that they were not to talk about this? Leila glanced to Alex who returned the motion and pushed her phone into her pocket. As usual (with the expectation of yesterday's dressing nightmare), she wasn't particularly dressed for the runway. Leila had few memories of the time she had been pushed into child modelling (a try of her mother to make her family 'more' than just old-rich; she never had liked it, even when she hadn't stood against the establishment) but Alex' outfit was all over the place.

She had seen Veira and Harriet hide a cringe at it.

"Who of you can tell me how Illéa came to be?"

"That's easy," Kate called out. "The world war!"

"Which one?" Helena asked without hesitation. Why hadn't she called Kate out for not raising her hand?

"Uh…" Kate hesitated. "World War Three?"

"What was before that?"

"… Land?" Kate grinned at her answer.

"What about starting with a bit before. The United States of America. What happened to them?"

Leila heard a sigh. Someone rose her hand, and Helena nodded towards the lady who had risen her hand—Anastasia Collins, one of the scientist girls. "The United States of America were formed in the eighteenth century. The country kept somewhat stable until it fell into debt in the twenty-first century. The States became first indebted to the Republic of China in the twenty-first century, but the debt grew to be the estimated cost of the whole country in the twenty-second century. By then, climate change had become a major issue and result to many disasters, the population of Earth declined by almost a billion. China was among the few countries, alongside Russia and formerly the United States, refusing to combat climate change, and this ruthlessness helped them to gain superpower status. As a way of reclaiming the debts, China launched a war at the States who couldn't afford to even counter, and became a puppet state of China, naming themselves the United States of China. During that time period, China overtook Japan and Korea alongside further land in Asia, and the term 'New Asia' became the standardised term in English, by the way. Russia followed China's example and overlooked the Climate Change issues too."

"A very good explanation," Helena complimented. "I assume you must have studied the effects of that time period on the environment, Lady Anastasia?"

She nodded. "Yes, it's actually my work. Part of it."

"Then can you explain what lead to the demise of modern society during that time?"

Anastasia nodded. Leila could vaguely too, but she assumed Anastasia probably knew more. "Earth's magnetic field shifted. This messed with technology and nature, destroyed many satellites and assumption was that society, alongside with the damage of climate change, was set back about three hundred years."

Someone else rose her hand. Rie, the wheelchair girl was given the nod by Helena to speak. "This led to New Asian and Russian decline in power as they long had begun to rely on technology much more than European countries who had been fighting climate change. While Europe and other developed countries still struggled and many other countries struggled a lot with climate issues, they lost military power, but were still viewed as world powers. However, the New Asian puppet president in Illéa, President Wallis, hoped to change."

"Magnificent, Lady Gabriella. Who can continue?"

This was Leila's chance—even if she didn't want to take it. "Wallis never had been a real politician, but he was friends with people with ideas and plans," Leila spoke up. "Gregory Illéa, and his best friends, Brenton Schreave and James Vanderbilt began developing a plan to upstage the New Asians."

Helena smiled. "We will come back to that, but can someone give me what allowed this plan to go further than just a plan?"

"Oh! Oh! I know! World War Three!" Kate called out.

"Which started how?"

"Uh, Russia invaded China? Or China invaded Russia? I think, they needed resources or so?"

"Almost," Helena corrected. "Russia invaded what is Illéa today, in the hopes that the States were the same rival they had during the Cold War. Does anyone know about that?"

Again, Rie rose her hand. Leila vaguely remembered it too, but war history wasn't her favourite. Too much pain. "It wasn't, but the assault was a threat either way, since China did not intend to provide help. They did use the chance to invade Russia for the same reason—resources and knowledge to fight the changed environment though. World War Three began between Russia and New Asia, and fortunately, they left us out. Europe struggled with the consequences too, hence the name World War Three, and many places became untouchable due to nuclear weapons, but we took the chance, and rebelled against Chinese power."

"What about Canada and Central America?"

Jaira rose her hand. "Both had long suffered with climate change and the magnetic field shift. The new technology in Illéa and the war made them give in to King Gregory's under-the-table offer to join Illéa before the Russians even tried to invade. They did, which helped financially a tiny little bit."

Helena nodded. "Now, who knows it from here?"

Most did. The tale of Gregory Illéa taking over the country was a children's tale, of course. Most hands reached the air, but Helena took a moment. She probably was thinking of more detail than the average Illéan knew.

Veira gently rose her hand, and was given the word. "President Wallis was approached by Illéa and his friends and, hopeless as he was, left them to do anything they wanted. Gregory Illéa was a genius who was able to use the changed climate and magnetic field to support the country and reclaim it from Chinese power. Alongside James Vanderbilt and Brenton Schreave, he was able to free Illéa from the grip of the Chinese. He took power, knowing that he had what Illéa needed to survive with his technology, and formed the country, helping it to rise from the ashes of many wars, poverty and pain."

This was when the caste system was implemented to stabilise the economy, Leila remembered. This was when Gregory Illéa, a child of Silicon Valley, made Los Angeles the capital. Even when the technology back then took hundreds of years to reach back the level of the twenty-first century. They still weren't as good as humanity had once been, but they were getting there. They had the knowledge, but there were just so many other issues. This was when New Asia and Russia lost much of their land in Europe and central Asia. This was when Italy, a strong ally of Illéa finalised the absolute power of its monarchy. This was when so many of European countries turned back to monarchies.

Survival of the fittest.

"Now, after this short history lesson," Helena began, "let's discuss the Illéa family line. To begin, Lady Veira, why don't you tell us about your ancestor? He has been mentioned a few times."

Veira nodded gracefully, like the lady she was. "Brenton Schreave is my great-great-great-great grandfather. He came from Washington, and had been a politician trying to prevent Wallis' dilemmas. He met with His Majesty early on in life, and they became close friends. His Majesty also married his younger sister, Bethany Schreave. After Washington became subject to Russian and revolutionary battles, he moved to New York, Waverly, where my family has lived ever since. He, and his descendants often were among those who were most likely to govern Waverly, including my uncle, Phineas Schreave. My paternal grandfather, Maxon Schreave, his father, Clarkson Schreave, my great-great-grandfather, Porter Schreave, and his father, Brenton Schreave II—they all worked as governor of Waverly."

"Thank you very much, Veira. I wish your grandmother would be here. She was such a strong woman. I do hope you will follow her path."

Veira nodded. Leila had never met Celeste Schreave, born Newsome, in person, but she had heard about the beautiful woman who had been Helena's closest friend for many, many years, particularly when a certain, selfish Five endangered early stages of King Henry's Selection with an affair with a guardsman. Of course, both were sentenced for high treason. What else would they have done? Let them go?

That would be ridiculous; even Leila recognised that. Who knew with that kind of people they would have worked with otherwise!

"Lady Leila, would you like to speak about your family?"

Leila bit on her lip, but nodded. "Sure. My mother is related, over edges and corners, to James Vanderbilt, the third part of the trio. He was an entrepreneur who came to power during the New Asian occupation. While the Chinese liked to have him there, as they thought of him to be an ally, they underestimated his desire for power. He betrayed them and helped King Gregory to begin the revolution, and followed to fight them. His only surviving child, Alice Vanderbilt, did marry prince Damon, by the way. But yeah, unlike Veira, I descent from James' brother." Hence her being a Two, not a One. As if that made a difference though.

"Thank you. The Vanderbilts and Schreaves helped a lot in forming the country, and while I am very sure it'd be interesting to explore their families, I would like to speak about the Illéa family, beginning with the founder of Illéa himself, Gregory Illéa."

 **Still the Orange Sitting Room, Hill Castle  
Nereida Statten**

Sitting in the last row with Blair had been a very, very good decision. Nereida had little ideas of history. Oscar talked about it sometimes, when they had spoken about the distant civil war, but that was about how far her attention span went.

In her defence, she could see Deylin playing around with something too, and Blair was also reading a book under the table. As for Nereida, she was on 'her' phone. Oscar had been messaging her every day (reminding her that calling was dangerous) and giving her tips and tricks, to the point that Umbridge complimented her.

Besides chatting with her boyfriend, Nereida had gone swimming with Blair a lot, and practised. She wasn't going to get out of practise for this; she loved dancing too much. She looked forward to their ballroom dance lessons _a lot_.

 **Oscar:** im dead

 **Nereida:** ?

 **Oscar:** stuff here. work. It's cool, but seriously, I'm dying inside.

 **Nereida:** What?

 **Nereida:** Call an ambulance?

 **Oscar:** Not that, Tiny.

 **Oscar:** It just smells a lot here. I guess you can call this philanthropy work.

 **Oscar:** What are you doing?

 **Nereida:** We're doing history with the Queen Mother. I came, as you told me to, but it's boring. We just started with the history of the royal family.

 **Oscar:** It gets fun when you reach Henry's Selection. You'll probably skim through Charles and Aaron, besides an honorary mention to Skye for the gardens. If you just started, then prepare for a rant about Gregory.

 **Oscar:** Helena HATES him.

As if on cue, Helena began speaking. "I will phrase it like this. Gregory Illéa was a jerk. A genius, but a jerk. He did not understand royalty and so many things either, and it was up to his descendants to fix that. Who of you knows about Katherine Illéa?"

Irina rose her hand. "The oldest daughter of Gregory Illéa married a Swendway prince and became Queen upon his ascension."

Helena nodded. "From his diaries, we know that he thought it'd make him a royal in people's minds. He thought it'd give him power. He failed to realise how fragile the Monpezat line was, the fact that Swendway is a constitutional monarchy and that even if it was as he envisioned, he wouldn't be a royal. It took years until this family was recognised as a family of royalty among the international community. The French Sauveterres struggled with the same—they weren't of royal descent either. But he did manage to get things running, and he did stop so many issues of poverty and theft of China, so he does deserve some credit."

Nereida glanced down onto her phone. Helena went on about his background as a child of the rich in Silicon Valley and how he came to meet Schreave and Vanderbilt, as well as his history with Bethany Schreave and family.

 **Nereida:** Yup, she's on it.

 **Oscar:** She'll probs gloss over Spencer Illéa. Did she mention Bethany, or did she leave it out because of Veira?

"For a while, his son and heir, Spencer Illéa, considered running away because he did not want the burden of the title he would someday hold, but he knew that the country needed an established leader in times where the internet was dead. He stayed. In the first Selection, he married Lady Grace Lowell."

 **Nereida:** She left her out, I think.

 **Oscar:** Understandable. That rumour IS nasty.

"Spencer's younger son married Princess Victoria Windsor, the then Princess Royal of the British Empire. Their marriage was childless, much to both sides dismay. Victoria is, however, the namesake of my granddaughter." Silence. Why, Nereida wondered? "Charles married Lady Clarissa Garner, a young woman who was a good friend by his side. Due to sick health, she only gave birth to one child before passing away in childbirth, Aaron Illéa." She went on about Charles' life.

 **Nereida:** We're up to Aaron. Something about how his marriage was arranged by Gregory who was still alive then, but how he ended up liking Clarissa a lot either way. Spencer apparently also didn't want his son to go through arranged marriage either, so he got Clarissa whom he liked and Gregory was OK with.

 **Oscar:** Sounds like I heard it. Believe me, this will be useful, Tiny.

 **Nereida:** but it's boring! :( :( :(

 **Oscar:** I know, I know. My mum and brother are suckers for family history though. You can use it to impress.

 **Nereida:** Oh. Okay!

 **Oscar:**

She blushed, remembering the belief that had been circulating in her family for quite a while. That he wanted to propose to her. He'd probably need his family to like her. Nereida looked up.

"Alright! You can do this! Pay attention!" she told herself.

"I sure hope you do," Helena chuckled. "Going on, Gregory passed before Aaron came of age. He lived extraordinary long for that time, and Spencer, already old, let Charles do as he wanted. Charles, seeing Clarissa and Aaron, couldn't force him into anything and thus gladly let him choose whoever he wanted in the Selection. He chose Lady Skye Turner, a Seven. Lady Skye is the reason we live with such beautiful gardens, by the way." She sighed. "Skye was… an amazing woman. She was never entirely accepted by the society of the upper class, but she never stopped smiling. I remember her coming into the Women's Room, brightly laughing and sitting with us, as if she was one of us. She never lost touch of reality, and I admire her for that. I hope you all will follow her example."

"She sounds sweet," Nereida pointed out.

"She was," Helena nodded. "Henry got his personality from her."

For a brief moment, Helena's soft smile turned sad. The memory of her husband, Nereida presumed. From what she remembered, he had passed away early into their lives… Maybe she had been four or six? Five? She didn't remember it. She barely remembered anything but her mother taking her to a church to pay respects. The old television at home hadn't worked even then, so they had gone to a church to watch the funeral.

She only remembered the gloomy, boring silence of it though.

Helena took a deep breath. "Aaron and Skye had three children. Henry, Phillip and Magdalena. Henry was the man whom I called husband for many, beautiful years. Magdalena married a relative to the Spanish King, and from what I know, she's very happy in the Spanish sun. I must visit her again. As for Phillip… Who knows about him?"

Silence.

 **Nereida:** What's up with Phillip?

 **Oscar:** He committed high treason.

 **Oscar:** He attempted to kill his older brother.

And with that knowledge, Nereida slowly rose her hand. "He tried to kill… King… Henry?" she asked more than answered.

Helena slowly nodded. "Yes." She paused. "That's not the whole story though. When I arrived for the Selection, I did not expect to win. My family was respected among musical community, but I was a Five, and no one wanted to see yet another lower caste as Queen, following Skye Turner. Phillip comforted me when I failed to follow classes because I never received the adequate education when being home-schooled. At some point, I would have said Yes if Phillip had asked me to marry him but… He left for a while, as a part of diplomatic mission to New Asia. Back then, I had passed the first elimination simply because Henry had overlooked me. He then apologised and invited me to a first date and…" She broke off.

Kate called out. "A love triangle!"

Helena chuckled. "A bit, yes. I didn't know whom I wanted. Phillip who came and helped me, or Henry who… It's… It's difficult to explain," she told. "Henry had something different. Something special. The way he listened to me talking about my beloved music. The way he talked about art and flowers… Phillip and I shared little hobbies. He enjoyed society, he saw performers as places to be seen himself and the longer this went on, the more we clashed. I believe he helped me out of curiosity and came to like me but… Henry respected me." She sighed. "One evening, I told Phillip that I did not want to break the rules of the Selection. I asked him not to come and visit me to talk anymore, even if Henry had told me that he wanted me to do whatever I felt like—even if I slept with someone else. He didn't mind. He wanted each of us to be happy." She paused. "Phillip was angered by that. He had thought there was more between us than there was."

Helena's voice broke. It broke as if she was at the edge of crying. Nereida barely knew that sound. Once or twice maybe, she had heard it from someone else… Often from Oscar, when he spoke about the war and the people who suffered. The sound of a voice cracking before one cried. Nereida shivered. The phone dropped aside.

"If I remember the story correctly," Veira spoke up, "from my grandmother, he stormed off and left you alone, but you felt frightened, did you not? A few days later, the then-crown prince, King Henry, broke down, poisoned, and barely survived… The blame ultimately fell on Phillip, who cited revenge."

Helena nodded. "A secret of this family. He didn't do it because he wanted power, but because he wanted me. I wish I had realised how he was before. That broke Skye, it broke Aaron and Magdalena… I remember that she didn't want me around, calling me the reason for that, but Henry? He saw his survival as a sign that he should follow his heart. Chose me." She smiled sadly. "Here we are. This is where I wanted to get to."

"… Are you implying that Prince Ernest or Prince Louis would do that?" Blair asked.

"Who?"

Blair sighed. "Ernest is the second child of the King, and Louis the fourth. Sophia is the third and Xander the first. Victoria the fifth."

Nereida rose her eyebrows. "That's a lot of kids."

Blair deadpanned at her, but didn't say anything. Why? She had just pointed out that five was a lot of children. It probably would cost a lot to keep such a family running… Nereida knew the strict money scheme of her family (that always surprised and amazed Oscar) and how her sister often struggled when she skipped school…

"Not entirely. I cannot imagine Ernest doing that, and I cannot imagine Louis doing that either. Ernest lacks… the dedication to one woman, Louis the interest. I am fairly positive that Sophia will not be a worry either."

"What about Vic—Princess Victoria?" Nereida asked curious.

"I haven't seen Vicky in ages, and I doubt you will anytime soon," Helena replied wary. "What I wish to tell you is that the Selection is a game for the throne and more. I sincerely hope that no one will go for 'wrong' methods. I don't know you all. I don't know why you are here. I don't know why you are playing this game."

The reason why she was here… Nereida's attention quickly trailed off. Helena went on, reminding the girls of how they were both closest friends yet rivals and needed to find the right balance, but she didn't listen. The reason she was here? So, Oscar's family would view her as acceptable candidate…

 **Nereida:** Hey, Oscar?

 **Oscar:** Always here for you. :)

 **Nereida:** Helena is lowkey scary. She's talking about how everyone is a rival and all… I'm worried.

 **Oscar:** Don't be. The guards and staff might be there to aid you all and stop y'all from texting secrets out to the world, but they're also there for your safety. Is there anyone who is worrying you in particular, or is it just her dim message?

Nereida looked up. She had heard a few cat fights (particularly between Veira, Harriet, Alex and Leila…) but nothing had involved her. She had stayed with Blair, who was her ally. Both just needed the Selected status for their respective boyfriends…

 **Nereida:** I don't think so. I'm usually with Blair.

 **Oscar:** That's the one with the boyfriend, isn't she?

 **Nereida:** Yes.

 **Oscar:** No one else?

 **Nereida:** I don't think so?

 **Oscar:** Then it's because of the Queen and the Selection.

 **Nereida:** What do you mean?

 **Oscar:** Uh. Common conception among the upper class is that Lysandre used her acting skills to win the King's heart and that she was never honest. Like, she played everyone. Idk if that was true (I have points for and against it tbh) but that might be why Helena is worried. Pretty common knowledge tho, so I guess anyone with a name can conclude that. She can't say it out loud, so she's implying it.

 **Nereida:** Why can't she say it out loud?

 **Oscar:** From what I've heard, she stood against the King marrying Lysandre Wilde, but he chose her over his mother. Speaks a thousand words who the King prioritises.

WAIT. The Queen's maiden name was Wilde? Nereida knew that 'Oscar Wilde' wasn't Oscar's actual name and how he kept his real name quiet to protect her in case she slipped but…

 **Nereida:** Wilde? Like you?

It was a noticeable coincidence…

 **Oscar:** Sorry to disappoint, but I went with Oscar Wilde bc of the playwright :x

 **Nereida:** Theatre nerd.

 **Oscar:** * your theatre nerd.

 **Oscar:** no, but seriously, I got into trouble when my family found out about my alias, but like, everyone knows it's a pen name, sooo yeah, I was fine. Plus, I'm alive and all, so it's cool. My family can just shut up :) Besides, Oscar Wilde sounds cool

It might sound cool (and realistic; he might have told her about that before), but Nereida wasn't going to leave the conversation on 'Oscar's name is cool'. Not when she could, and had to, top that.

 **Nereida:** Nereida Statten is cooler.

 **Oscar:** I can top that.

 **Nereida:** ? No, you can't?

 **Oscar:** eeeh, okay, I admit defeat. You're awesome, Tiny

 **Oscar:** I'm back in Angeles like next week. See you then; I gotta go now.

 **Nereida:** Please don't leave me alone, this is boring. T_T

Or wait, did he hint the proposal again? Nereida groaned (gaining Blair's confused attention). She wanted to get him back already…

Helena continued, without much of Nereida's attention. "But yeah, my three children, Adrian, Amelie and Maximilian. Maximilian… was murdered when Hill Castle was attacked, but Amelie was fortunately safe in Italy… As for Adrian, I'm sure I don't need to repeat that."

/ / /

 **Next Chapter:** »I am just _waiting_ for you to blow yourself up on the landmines«


	21. Chapter 20

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Helena met with a few interested girls and spoke about the history of Illéa, touching the story of her own Selection (which might lead to her own coldness towards the girls…) and the implication of who Lysandre really was. Meanwhile, Nereida had conversations with her mysterious boyfriend, and figured that he might really plan to propose to her._

 **Chapter 20**

»I am just _waiting_ for you to blow yourself up on the landmines«

 **Illéa Palace Gardens, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

The palace was buzzing. More than usual, and that made Xander feel unwell, even though Evan had finally stopped teasing him and returned to his own problems at work. The change in inhabitants of the palace affected the palace guard, of course, and Xander wished that that was the issue he needed to deal with…. For now, he was left to sit together with his sister, grandmother, grandfather and brothers, drinking tea.

As usual, neither Victoria or his father were present.

"Did you try to talk him into coming?" Jonathan, his maternal grandfather, questioned him, judging.

Helena sighed. "Yes, I did. I believe that he tried to talk to Victoria again, and that it failed utterly. Xander, have you spoken to little Macaron?"

Not really since she had asked about the Selection. Xander frowned at that memory. He hadn't been able to tell how she felt about it, maybe because he still didn't know how he felt himself. He shook his head. "No, but going by Tori, she is doing fine."

"It's not good that you're leaving her in Belasko's hands."

"Tori has made a good impression on me," Ernest remarked. "She's cool."

Louis sighed. "Please tell me you didn't sleep with her."

Ernest shrugged. "Okay, I didn't sleep with her."

Xander glanced over his brother's banter as usual. He had other worries. "Vic trusts her, and Tori has proven exceptional in making sure nothing happens to her."

"She needs to get over with it," Jonathan insisted. "And so, does Adrian." He looked at Helena, challenging. Was this a task for her as Adrian's mother? Xander frowned. He knew that while his father cared for his mother, a long time ago, trust between them had been hurt. Hopefully, not the same would—

A child shiver went down his spine.

Oh great. Another thing to worry about.

As if things weren't difficult enough, he needed to think about how his family would think about whoever he chose to be his One. Not only did the people need to like her, and she needed to be capable of dealing with royal life, he also had to make sure that no one in the family had serious issues with her…

Helena sighed. "If you are so worried about it, Jonathan, why don't you speak to him?"

"I'm not his mother."

"Adrian is _the King_."

"And who is running the country? Your grandson, at the age of twenty-two."

Xander's expression remained neutral. He made sure to put enough energy into that. He didn't want to think about that. From the looks of it, Illéa was doing fairly well, so he didn't worry about the country but… He agreed with him. He wasn't going to handle the Selection and the country at once, but still, he could understand his father.

"And he lost his wife. We lost our mother!" Louis rose his voice coldly. Xander turned to his youngest brother. It happened rarely enough—Louis disliked Jonathan in any situation except when he stood against Ernest. The youngest present Illéa _hated_ confrontation more than anything.

Well, maybe everything besides his issues with the lower castes.

"My wife has passed away too, Louis. Helena's husband has too. People are not immortal, and it's been _months_."

"Maybe if you'd see it from his point—"

Sophia cleared her throat. Xander could see disdain in her expression, even though it quickly moved to become a smile. Maybe it wasn't even disdain, just fatigue? Xander certainly was over this conversation by miles.

"Xander, have you read through the files I sent you?" she asked.

Xander took a moment to think back—which files? The ones on the progress of the Selected? He doubted she'd ask about them; nothing extraordinary had happened. Which other files were there? The medical ones. Right. Deylin Reyes and the heart condition.

"I remember," he replied. "And yes, I read them."

"Have you thought about it? It wouldn't be too late to replace her."

Xander nodded. "I know, but I believe it isn't a necessity."

Jonathan frowned. He had taken the files beforehand, and he had read through them too. "Are you sure, Xander? A heart-condition is a serious case. No sane person would let someone like that have a chance on passing such genes down to the next King."

"I am aware of the risks, but I've decided to give her a chance. Besides that, we do need _some_ people to eliminate."

Jonathan frowned, but did not speak about anything else. That, probably, was a good thing—Xander was not particularly looking forward to yet another discussion about the shortcomings and wrongdoings happening right now.

"We also need to discuss first meetings," Jonathan remembered. "I doubt that you want them during Adrian's birthday."

"No," Xander shook his head. "Sophia?"

"We have plans for two things." Two? "Ernest helped me with one, Louis with the other, actually."

"What?" Louis looked to his older brother. "I thought there was just one?"

"So did I…?" Xander added.

Sophia smiled. "Oh, it'll be fine. Remember that idea with bringing friends in?"

"… The one we scrapped?" Louis replied hesitant.

"Well," Sophia smiled. "We didn't! Well, kind of. Less friends, but still the basic idea."

"That is inadequate for such an occasion, and you know that, Sophia," Louis criticised.

"We have one casual meetup, and one caught on camera—one that is official," Sophia replied. "First the casual one, then the official one—so the filming isn't too awkward. I mean, sure we need to have the girls act a bit but…"

Jonathan shook his head. "No. Thirty-five girls being told to act? One will leak it. I don't know what you are planning, but switch it around."

"But it's fun—"

"I agree," Xander nodded. "Less explanation too." Less interaction with girls, he added to himself.

Sophia sighed. "Alright, alright… So yeah, they'll arrive on March 31st, in the morning. Then we'll do the official meetings in the daytime and the casual one in the evening. Next day is ball preparation, including dresses and the intro interviews for the Report."

"… About that," Louis spoke up. "You didn't hire a _Report_ host."

Ernest grinned. He grinned with a bit too much energy behind it. "Yes, she did."

Sophia sighed.

"Hence I'm doing it."

Louis dropped his cake fork. " _What_?" he asked dumbfound. "Are you _planning_ to make this a disaster?"

Sophia forced a sheepish smile. "Well, he's good with making friends—"

"Hook-ups," Louis corrected.

"Whatever. He's good with talking to people, and we don't need to pay anyone…?" she turned to Xander.

He, in return, wasn't sure whenever that was something good in return. Sure, he did want Ernest to meet the girls (and this actually provided an ideal excuse…) but leaving him in charge of the _Report_? Last time he had been on set, he had ended up sleeping with an employee…

Well, that had been a few years ago, at least. Maybe, magically, he had changed.

"If you mess up once, Louis will do it."

" _What_? Are _you_ planning to make this a disaster?" Louis, equally indignant and frightened as before, demanded to know. "Let Sophia do it—even Victoria would be better!"

"Which one?" Sophia frowned. "Tori or Vic?"

"Tori, of course," Louis shook his head. "I doubt Vicky would set a foot onto the _Report_ anytime soon... And I hope, you won't force her to, _Sophia_."

Jonathan glanced at Ernest, then at Xander. "If Sophia wasn't that busy, I would agree with it. Maybe Helena?" he turned to the Queen Mother. "You were a Selected once. I'm sure—"

"No." Helena deadpanned. "I dealt with one Selection close hand, and I'm not going to do that again."

"You've already dealt with this one," Louis deadpanned.

"I gave them a stern warning, and nothing else."

"Either way—you need to do something about Victoria," Jonathan went on.

"Which one?" Xander, the one this had been directed to, asked. "Victoria Belasko or Vic?"

"Your sister," Jonathan replied. "She can't spend the Selection locked in her room."

"She spent the last months in her room," Helena reminded him coldly. "If she is not feeling ready, then you shouldn't force her to come out. Especially not with thirty-five _strangers_ around."

Jonathan shook his head. "She needs someone to just push her. Snap out of it."

"She's not ready yet," Xander nearly hissed. "Period. No more discussions on Victoria, unless coming from her herself."

If Jonathan wasn't a grown man, Xander would have expected him to pound. Louis glanced at him, making Xander realise yet another thing. Louis wasn't going to meet them anytime before the ball, and Louis probably didn't plan on attending most of that either way. For all Xander knew, he'd be present at the dinner, dance once or twice with the Queen Mother, if even, and then sneak away before anyone could even think about speaking to him. Xander didn't appreciate that, but he could understand it.

He'd need to speak to Sophia about Louis at least meeting the girls, though. Maybe he and Ernest could work together for the interviews after all? No—that'd be too much 'meeting people' for the girls, Xander thought.

He'd think about it. He'd think about it, he promised himself.

After the rest on his to-do-list.

 **Grand Hall of Hill Castle, Angeles  
Jaira Phillip**

"One two three, one two three, one to three."

Jaira bit on her lip. She wasn't taking this. No way. She wasn't going to give in to a simple slow waltz. They hadn't even gone further than the basic steps! Jaira was glad to see that she wasn't the only one suffering. Anastasia, dangerously close, struggled with keeping her legs apart too.

But at least both of them had somewhat of a rhythm. Sure, there was Nereida Statten who had long stopped paying attention and had gone to a corner, chatting with her partner and doing stuff that was _not_ the base steps. Somewhere else, Deylin Reyes and Enobyschmedward Galloschmullen, both also Fives, didn't seem to struggle at all either.

Probably came with the family, Jaira assumed bitter.

Their instructor clapped a rhythm vicariously, but again, she had moved the wrong foot. She groaned annoyed, but began with the steps once they had gone back to the one-two-three. In her defense, they had just begun with dancing about twenty minutes ago.

Some other girls weren't struggling either and they weren't Fives. However, Veira Schreave, Leila Sinclair and Harriet Tailor (she assumed Alex could do it too, but didn't bother) weren't bothered by ground steps anymore either. They probably would get out of this by lunch. Jaira wasn't. She pounded.

"One two three, one two three, one two three. Okay! Stop!"

Jaira gladly did. The teacher walked between the girls, apparently inspecting them. What was he looking for? She frowned. If they were meant to stop, then he wasn't looking for missteps or something like that.

"Put your arms higher," he told Isla.

"Your arms are too high," he told Cilla.

"Your arms are too wide," he told Kate.

"Your arms need to be wider," he told Rosy.

Going by Jaira's point of view, they all looked the same, but nonetheless, she straightened her back, adjusted her posture and gained the confident nod of her partner.

"You are doing perfectly fine," he vaguely directed at the bunch of girls who had prior dancing experience.

He walked past Anastasia, nodded and made some minor adjustment in her posture, and judged Jaira. He paused for a moment, looking from her arms down to her feet. He gave her a vague nod. "You're too stiff."

She sighed, and dropped her arms, gaining the chuckle of her dance partner, one of the dance instructor's students. Apparently, he was some high-level competition dancer or something. Jaira didn't mind. She was glad to learn from the best, but she also wanted to know more about other things.

The Selection, she didn't mind.

The training, she didn't mind.

What the Queen Mother had told about them sounded quite realistic. It sounded quite a bit like she should want to be invested into the training, going by the sounds of Helena and her experience in the beginning of the Selection, she wanted to be good now, to not fail back later.

No, what bothered her, was still what Anastasia had done on their first days here. Primarily, because it hadn't stopped. Jaira had asked about her background at university and her beginning at I-TEC. When she had done that, the dance training had begun.

And there she was now, wanting to know the answer to her question on "Have you been working at the Sioux Falls the whole time?" when she knew that couldn't be true. Jaira was glad that she finally realised that this was what made her feel so weird about Anastasia. There was a hole in her background.

"Again, this time a bit slower!" the instructor announced. "One, two, three. One, two, three…"

Jaira set her left foot backwards, drew an L-shape with her right and close the step with her left foot. _Mirror the same_ , she thought. Right foot forward, mirrored L with the left foot, closing in with the right foot. Repeat.

By the time the instructor did another check on posture, she was glad to know that she had done less mistakes and felt more confident. Sure, she knew that these dance lessons were going to last for the whole morning every day now. Going by the sounds, if they pleased their instructor, they might get out earlier (she saw the instructor letting Nereida, Veira, Leila and Harriet leave early, leading to Alex putting much more energy in it) if they did well. Meanwhile, Rie Jespersen was sitting by the side, reading a book. Jaira frowned. She knew that she could use prosthesis, and she doubted that the royal family couldn't somehow support that financially. Did she think she didn't need to join them? Surely, that didn't look good to the royal family…

Following further rounds of checking posture and ground step, they went on to changing the order of steps, some spins and by the time lunch rolled around, Jaira began to question if she had been right with thinking that science was more difficult than arts.

"That was… a challenge," Anastasia remarked when she sat down next to Jaira.

Jaira yawned (with the instructor and Abby Moon in the background, she made sure it looked ladylike) and glanced to her fellow scientist. "I wish I had slept more."

"Why did you not?" she asked.

"I don't know," Jaira replied sarcastic. "Someone was blasting _Tomorrow Together_ by Abby Moon at one o'clock in the morning?"

"… Oh." Anastasia blushed. "Well, you could have told me to turn it down…?"

"I tried."

"Sorry," Anastasia shrugged, confident as always, "but there are noise cancelling headsets you could have used…"

"That's how I ended up sleeping."

"There we go," Anastasia smiled. "What do you think?"

"Of what? Dancing?" Jaira hesitated. "It's nice…"

"I think it gets easier," Anastasia agreed. "Shall we go and eat lunch?"

"Sure," Jaira nodded. She followed Anastasia (who really had become the one she hung around with, despite the mysterious past and the fact that she just had to try to be the best in everything (not that Jaira didn't) and looked like an absolute try-hard (absolutely unlike Jaira) which was _so_ ridiculous) to the other girls who were eating together. Nereida was trying to teach Blair the last steps they had learned, and some other girls were watching eagerly. Nereida had become the dance teacher's favourite, but that was because she was, literally, a dancer by profession. Gosh. How had she made it this far? For some, the Selection announcement had made the whole thing much more exciting. Others, well, weren't. _Strange_ , Jaira thought. They all had originally applied for the Selection after all. She glanced to Anastasia. She hadn't reacted negatively—why?

"Hey, where did you work again? In what part of I-TEC? I know that Minnie's part of the business stuff, but… you're a bio-environmental engineer, so?"

"Oh, as I said, Sioux Falls. It's a research project about elemental levels and so on. It's great to work there."

"And during the civil war? All resources were pushed into war efforts—I doubt that Sioux Falls would have priority then…"

Anastasia hesitated. "Oh, I was in another group, but I was just new, so I didn't have much to say… It's nothing special. What about you?"

"Bio-weapon development. Nothing that, by my knowledge, was ever used. I was involved a lot with dealing with medicine shortages and finding solutions at first though."

Anastasia froze. Jaira could see her eyes darting around; she was looking for a response to that. Jaira took a glass of water, but kept a poker face. She wasn't sure what Anastasia thought, but this was proof enough. She was a liar.

"Whatever," she shrugged the topic off. "Have you ever read ' _The Handmaid's Tale_ '? The book? It's quite old, but good."

It took her a moment to catch herself. Jaira nearly frowned, but Anastasia managed to reply on time. Just enough not to look off to most people, but Jaira caught it. She was proud. "Oh, yeah, I think I did," Anastasia replied. "It's quite a scary idea, isn't it?"

"It is," Jaira agreed. Something in her was sad that Anastasia took the bait, but then again, if she dug too much at once, Anastasia would maybe grow suspicious. "It's sad to see that even Illéa is a bit of a patriarchy." Women married into the castes of her husbands, the throne could—theoretically—only pass down to men. Jaira leaned forward. If she was to win the Selection, this was something she would want to change, she decided.

"Well, the Queen Mother apparently is of the mindset that Gregory Illéa was a jerk, and he was the one to make the rules," Anastasia remembered. "Maybe that's another reason."

"I do wonder why she wouldn't have insisted on changing it…"

"Maybe she did?" Anastasia shrugged. "Maybe it didn't fit in with things?"

Jaira tilted her head. "But what could that have been?"

She didn't know. What could there be for a reason for them not to do it? Maybe Henry Illéa wasn't as much the flower boy as Helena had said. Something about their backstory was questionable enough… Yes, Jaira decided. Something was off, but maybe it was just the memories that were different from what things were.

Maybe, if she had time, she could look into old footage of Henry Illéa's Selection, and try to understand what the Queen Mother had intended to tell them with the truth being the Selection. Had that just been a 'welcome to the family', or had there been more behind it?

"We'll see," Jaira decided. "See and try to figure out if it's not possible."

Anastasia smiled. "Yeah."

/ / /

" **I wanna go home"  
Vicky**

Vicky crouched into the corner. It was dark, and for all she knew, she couldn't see a bit of anything, except that little ray of light coming in from the key lock. She was freezing. How had she gotten here?

She knew _that_.

How long had she been here? _That_ , she didn't know. The first stranger had come back and back, again and again. His name was Andrew, and the second guy was called William. Andrew was strong, tall and scary. William was fat (a comment neither of them had taken well), tiny, and seemed to be more book smart. Andrew was an evil Xanxan, William was an evil Loulou. William also seemed to be at least as old as papa. Maybe even as old as grandpa, she thought. Another comment he hadn't taken lightly.

Except none of them wouldn't ever, ever, ever hurt her. These people were evil, the rebels that had been brought up in the council meetings.

Vicky had fallen asleep. She was hungry, so it had taken a while. She had stopped crying, but only because it felt like there were no tears left. Curled up in the corner, she was barely visible when the door was unlocked and opened.

"Gosh, it's cold here," someone pointed out. It wasn't Andrew or William. It was a girl. Vicky peeked through her crossed arms. She couldn't recognise her, but she looked taller than Sophy. Like mummy, she thought.

"Please tell me Hartman has given her food," she called back through the open door.

An open door… Vicky, still trembling of the cold, glanced to the light. It was bright, but it was an open door. An open door meant she could run off, didn't it? Her heart raced. She could run—she could go home! She could find Lucia and they could go back to Hill Castle, to Ernie, Sophy and Loulou. This nightmare could stop!

Except, there was that girl in the way.

She knelt in front of her. "Hey, kiddo. You're awake?"

Vicky shook her head.

The girl chuckled. "Alright." She sat down where she was; Vicky whimpered. That'd make it more difficult to run, she thought. No, it'd be impossible to run.

"Okay, look. I'm Tori—my name is Victoria too!—and if you look at me, I'm sure we can get you something nice to eat," she suggested. "I'm sure you're hungry, aren't you?"

Vicky nodded quietly, but she didn't say anything. Not at first, at least. Tori smiled and turned to the door. "Hey, Will, can you get something? To eat?"

"I'm not your personal servant, Belasko." The voice of William made Vicky shrink. Not him again! Andrew had been accompanied by William, so he had to be around somewhere! No, no, no!

"Shut up and get going. You can't sit in front of a screen twenty-four-seven."

Vicky could hear her grumbling along the lines of "Teenagers", but only saw Tori roll her eyes at him. Tori turned to her, and smirked. "I'm twenty-one. I'm not a teenager," she commented. "And you?"

She shook her head. "We do not negotiate with terrorists," papa had said in one of the meetings. Negotiation meant talking. She wasn't going to talk to them. No, she absolutely wouldn't. No matter how cold it was, no matter the fact that her once-yellow dress was full of dirt. Sophy wouldn't like that.

Tori smiled at her, but that smile faltered. Did she realise that Vic wasn't going to talk? "Alright… What can we do… Do you like tea?" she asked in a friendly way.

Vicky slowly nodded. She did. Mummy loved tea too. She made great tea.

"Hey, Will, can you get tea, too?" Tori called out, much less friendly.

Tori continued sitting there, smiling kindly. She asked questions, about what Vicky liked eating and what she liked to do, dipping into why she liked them (tea, because of mummy, and playing the violin because of grandmother) and what else she did daily.

Eventually, William returned. The moment, he stepped through the doorstep, Vicky shrieked and curled up again. Not him, not him! She pressed herself against the cold wall. Her face disappeared behind her arms.

"Drop it there," Tori ordered coldly. "You're scaring the princess."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, _your royal highness_ ," William shot back sarcastically. He did drop an old tray though.

But he was right, Vicky realised. She was a princess. The daughter of the King and Queen of Illéa. Princess Victoria of Illéa .

"… Where am I," she demanded to know. "Tell me where I am!"

Tori smiled sadly. "Sonage, kiddo," she replied. "And I'm afraid, that won't change anytime soon."

"I want to go home!"

Tori shook her head. "Look, you are a princess, aren't you?"

"Yes, and I'm ordering you to return me home!"

"As a princess, you surely want the best for your country, don't you?"

"Of course!"

Tori nodded. "Then I need to ask you something. Do you know how it is to work the whole day and barely make enough money to buy food?"

"Why wouldn't you just ask the kitchen?" Vicky asked. "That's stupid!"

"Because not everyone has that."

What followed was a long explanation that Vicky already knew. She had seen videos—the propaganda, the rebels distributed—in the meetings and when Xanxan had been looking through them. Ernie and Loulou had seen them too, Sophy had avoided them. She was a lady, it wasn't hers to look at.

Vicky knew about the imbalances of the caste system. She had heard the reports, she had listened to her father and his advisors contemplating their possibilities. Therefore, the longer Tori went on, the more she felt assured. Vicky had seen rebels supporting that message with violence, explosions and screams.

Tori explained as calmly as her mother when they discussed the positives and negatives of proscenium arch stages.

"You look pretty," Vicky pointed out in the middle of Tori's commentary on southern provinces. "Like mummy!"

Tori frowned. "Kiddo, there's more to life than being pretty… Especially when some people barely can survive and—"

The door crashed into the cold, stone wall; Vicky shrieked. Again, her heart raced. She tried to breathe but somehow, it didn't work. Who had come through the door and what did they want and why did they came and why did they crash the door and why now and who even?!

"Hey, Belasko." It was Andrew. "I know you love your tea parties, but _are you don_ e? We had an agreement on the kid."

The kid? Vicky looked around. Besides Tori (definitely not a kid) and Andrew (absolutely not a kid), there was no one in the room but her—oh. She was the kid. She was thirteen! She wasn't a kid anymore! She was mature and strong and intelligent and creative and could make good decisions! Daddy had said so, Xanxan had said so, Mummy had said so!

Tori rolled her eyes. "Yeah, talking about Victoria—who has a name, by the way." Thank you. "You can get her a blanket, Hartman. Also, codenames?!"

"You aren't using them either…?"

"Please, you'll get yourself killed or arrested either way, at this rate, With what you pulled downtown in Tijuana."

"Tijuana was an accident!"

"I am just _waiting_ for you to blow yourself up on the landmines," Tori replied, laughing sarcastically.

Landmines? Tijuana? Tijuana, Vicky knew, was in Sonage. She had dealt enough with geography in past weeks to be sure of that. Tijuana and landmines… no, Vicky only remembered grandpa mentioning landmine danger in Midston…

"Well, not everyone can be a natural genius in everything, Belasko," Andrew spitted.

"At least Tori is capable of civilised conversations!" Vicky stumbled over her own words.

Andrew's eyes darted to her. "Oh, shut up, brat."

BAM. His foot hit her shoulder like a soccer ball. Vicky cried out. That hurt! Why was he so mean? She hadn't done anything! Vicky held her arm, trying to pull herself up, but there it was again. BAM, another kick.

Even when her head hit the wall, she didn't miss Tori's frown. She didn't miss that worried glance. She didn't miss how Tori reached out, just to catch herself, reminded of who Victoria Illéa was and what the princess stood for. Back then, Vicky didn't understand that it was how she would escape. Even if it was five years in the future, Tori Belasko was going to be her ally.

Her only ally.

/ / /

 **Victoria's bedroom, Los Angeles  
Princess Victoria of Illéa**

In the present, Victoria cried out in fear.

Evan Cavanah, the loyal guard, busted in, with a tired yawn but readied gun. She threw pillows, he dodged most. Things were as usual. She didn't trust him, but Xander (she hadn't seen him in weeks…) didn't come.

Fortunately, she didn't need him exactly.

By the time she calmed down, Tori Belasko probably had spoken to her for forty minutes. Calming, quiet, helpful. Tori knew what she dreamt off—she had been there. She knew what helped. But even Victoria understood that frown on Tori's face. She knew that Tori was worried about her.

It had been too long.

"I'll be fine," she reassured her friend.

"Hmhm," Tori joked. "And I'm Santa Claus."

"Seriously."

"Vicky, I know that you want to think that, but I see that you aren't."

Vicky pulled the thousands of pillows closer, looking at the brunette sitting in front of her at the foot of her bed. Tori lived on the palace grounds, but Vicky knew how often she slept on the sofa in her sitting room. Not that she wasn't grateful—she never left her room without Tori—but she knew how others thought about it.

Okay, she knew about it second hand by sentences from Xander.

"… Do you know where Xanxan is?" she asked. "I haven't seen him in weeks…" she hesitated. "And where have you been?"

Vicky knew that Tori worked with the military and the government to do damage control. There was no one who stopped her from getting information, even if she avoided it. Even if she avoided anyone whose name wasn't Tori Belasko or Xander Illéa.

"I'm fairly sure that he is busy with the Selection."

Vicky frowned. The Selection. Strangers. Strangers coming into her home. Strangers living in her home. Strangers like that woman who claimed to be Sophy. Strangers like the people who claimed to be Ernie and Loulou. Strangers who claimed to be dad.

"Oh, and you know how Xander likes to run in the morning?" Tori laughed. "I was at Hill Castle the other day, and I can assure you—if he wants to avoid these girls, he better gets himself a new hobby."

"A new hobby? Hill Castle?"

"You know that the girls are currently at Hill Castle, don't you?"

Victoria nodded. Yes. So much, she knew from what Xander had told her. Thirty-five girls, one from each province—like mummy—would come to Hill Castle, stay there for a month under the supervision of grandmother and Sophy. Or at least, the stranger who claimed to be Sophy. Then, they would come to the palace.

"… When do they come?" Victoria asked. It was still dark outside—or yet again?

"They won't be allowed to enter the third floor," Tori reassured her. "But they will arrive on the last day of March."

"That will be…"

"In a few days. They will be announced a bit before… Do you want to go through the files?"

Victoria quickly shook her head. "No!" She didn't want any more strangers—she wanted her family back! She didn't want some strange girls to take away her brother—he was the only one left—she wanted them all back; they were _her_ family. She looked up to the photos on the wall. It reminded her…

"…Tori?"

"Yes?"

"When will mummy come back?"

/ / /

 **Next Chapter:** »You back stabbing, uncaring, unemphatic wet sock!«


	22. Chapter 21

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Xander and his family had discussions about the Selection host, plans as well as family matters such as Victoria's problems and Adrian's absence from work. Later on, the girls have their first dance lessons, and Jaira Phillips tries to figure out Anastasia Collins' secret. Meanwhile, Victoria had yet another nightmare, and finally time to speak to her confidante, Tori Belasko, again._

 **Chapter 21**

»You backstabbing, uncaring, unempathetic wet sock!«

 **Palace Avenue, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Nereida Statten**

Going by Professor Umbridge, the palace Avenue had been build after major parts of Los Angeles were destroyed by a tsunami, and was named by the only surviving building—Gregory Illéa's mansion-turned-palace. It certainly looked impressive; much more interesting than the lecture. Other topics also included the creation and outline of the _Report_ , but Nereida hadn't listened. The last time she had seen the Report was… Well, she didn't actually remember _ever_ seeing it. People at work talked about it—that was all. 'Stuff happens, wow, back to dancing.'

Priorities, you know?

It was an early morning. Sunrise-early. She wanted to sleep in, but yesterday, Oscar had texted her. Enough of a reason to wake up; he was back in Angeles, and asked if they could meet. Initially, it had been a no, because of lessons and all.

That was, until she was told that tomorrow, the girls were encouraged to go and see Los Angeles; they'd meet after lunch at the beach. Blair suggested to go to the beach since neither of the girls had the money (sure, they were paid, but Nereida wanted to save that money) to spend on shopping. Nereida wouldn't have minded, if It wasn't for Oscar.

He promised to explain it today, and asked her to meet him at the Palace Avenue.

"Tiny!" Oscar called out. Nereida turned to find him, leaning against the massive, guarded fence of the palace. Only the rooftops peeked through behind the trees. "I'm here!"

She didn't recognise him immediately. Partly because she knew that he had been dying his hair when he stayed in Bonita (for security reasons), but partly because of his outfit, that made him look strange. Not like himself. Probably the purpose? Again, nasty security reasons, like back in Bonita when they barely could even go out? Sure, that hadn't stopped them but…

"Oscar!" Once again, Nereida launched herself onto her boyfriend (who seemed more prepared, this time). She embraced him, glad that he was here. There was no way he wouldn't be, but what if he hadn't?

"Hey, sorry for being late," he replied. "How are you?"

"I'm great!" Nereida smiled.

"That's sweet," Oscar replied. "I hope you have time until you meet with Sophy."

"I do!" she announced.

"Great," he replied. "For I will finally present you, my sweet, beloved and faithful lady, the humble place that I do call my very much boring home."

"Sure!"

They laughed. They laughed just like they had ages ago, when they had been in Bonita, and Nereida's only worry was if her sister would skip school or not, and if money would be fine. It would be, because there was always Oscar who _would_ help.

Now she was in Los Angeles and had to deal with which fork to use first for which dish.

Oscar took her hand, showing the way to wherever his home was. First, they walked besides the fence, with Nereida chatting about the girls from the Selection and what they had done, and Oscar summarising what he had done while he was away ("boring charity work, really"). They turned away only long after walking past the fence, into a smaller alley, with a relatively small exit. Stairs leading to an apartment, she initially expected.

The stairs didn't go up, but down.

"This way," Oscar replied, pulling out his phone and turning on the torch. "Sorry, but this is the least attention-grabbing entrance."

Nereida took it with a shrug; the tunnel looked like the set of Oscar's second play (maybe even taken from here?), and she saw no reason to distrust him. They walked up, and eventually reached another flight of stairs. Happily, Nereida followed.

They did reach a door, except it wasn't a door—a painting that could be opened. Oscar winked at her. "Don't tell anyone about this," he told her, "but this leads to the second floor. All other tunnels were closed ages ago. I don't know why Gregory Illéa build them, but he did, and it was stupid."

"Gregory Illéa?" Nereida repeated with a confused face. "Did he build your house?"

Oscar stopped. "What do you mean?"

"Wasn't he the first king of Illéa?"

"Uh, yeah?"

Nereida smiled with a shrug. "I was just surprised. I wouldn't think he would have built your house. Where to go next?"

Oscar didn't move; he frowned at them and looked confused. "What do you mean—Tiny, wait. Wait. Waitwaitwait."

"Yes?" she stopped.

"Tiny, you know that Oscar Wilde isn't my real name. I random generated a given name and chose Wilde because irony. You remember the story about my grandfather not liking it, because his surname is Wilde too, and people could make the connection? The story I told you not to tell anyone?"

"Yeah," she smiled. Nereida bounced up and down on her heels.

"And you know my actual name."

"Nope," she replied with a hum.

"Nereida, I'm Ernest Illéa. Gregory Illéa is my ancestor."

"… Oh." Nereida shrugged. Okay, so Oscar's name was Ernest? Fine. "Alright, so he built your house after all. The point?"

Oscar-slash-Ernest deadpanned. "Tiny, I'm a prince."

"That makes sense."

"… And your reaction is a shrug?"

"Uh, yeah?"

Oscar-slash-Ernest continued to look at her, before smiling. "Yes, of course it is. What was I wondering about…" He shook his head, but smiled a bit either way. "Come, I wanna show you my rooms. It's not like I don't know yours."

Yeah, he probably had a larger bedroom than the small one that Nereida shared with her sister. Nereida followed swiftly up some stairs and around three corners. Whatever. Oscar-slash-Ernest could help her if she got lost. Again.

What was it with Angeles and large houses?

"Who did you invite for the ball?" Oscar-slash-Ernest asked, referring to the King's birthday ball. Alongside the sightseeing trip today, Sophia had explained that a bit ago; all girls were able to invite one friend, family member—whoever, really, to the ball.

"Mum," Nereida replied. "I miss her, and I haven't spoken with her ever since I left Bonita…" Their family's phone was broken, but considering how things went with the Stattens, they never thought about repairing it. Now that she had access to one of these fancy smartphones, Nereida couldn't help but feel like that should change though.

"Your sister will hate you."

Yes, she would. Sirena would die for the chance to come to the palace. Nereida looked down. "I know."

Oscar-slash-Ernest smiled. "Which is why I put your parents _and_ your sister on the guest list. Nobody checks it either way; it'll be fine."

"You did what?" Nereida smiled. "Thank you!" Could he do that? Sophia had been quite insistent on only one person per Selected. Even Rowan Johansson had to decide between her two siblings. But then again, if Oscar-slash-Ernest was a prince, then he probably could. Royalty always could do what they wanted in his plays, and he probably knew things best…

"So, what's up with that mysterious plan you've been teasing?" Nereida asked when they stepped into what Nereida judged to be a drawing room, probably his private one. She obviously was an expert at that now.

"Ehm, long-story-short, Jonathan—my grandfather—probably hates me because I enjoy parties, and if I said 'Hi, I actually have a girlfriend, mind if I take her back to Angeles?', then he'd probably throw me out for some ridiculous reasons. Or Xander comes with his budget again. I'm fairly sure he'll cut like half the Selected on Day One for money reasons."

Nereida nodded. She had heard enough tales about his strict grandfather to be able to imagine that. She sat down next to him onto one of the comfy couches. She'd need to remember to ask him if she could have it. It wasn't like half of the furniture in her home came from him in some way—totally no.

"Yeah, so I kept quiet, trying to figure out when I could bring it up. With mum and all, there was never a point where Louis wouldn't have wanted to kill me for it, but then, my dear older brother came up with the Selection."

"And?"

"Xander wants me and Louis to, I quote, 'look at the girls as well'. Yeah, I'm looking at one of them, and I don't see a reason to ever blink again." Nereida blushed. He smirked. Typical.

"So…?"

"Jonathan, quite literally, told me to 'not even talk to any girl', so if I mention that we've known each other for longer than five minutes on Day One, then he'll probably force Xander into eliminating you. I was thinking of waiting until the end of the first round of dates? I can make sure you won't get out of the Selection, before I explain to them that I already have someone."

"Someone…" Nereida smiled. So she was right. "Me."

"There's no one else I'd need," Oscar-slash-Ernest replied with his cute, dreamy eyes. "Besides that—by the way, tea?" he leaned forward to the (probably previously prepared? Or did tea appear out of the nowhere here?) cup of tea and handed her one of them before she could even reply.

"That sounds good to me," she replied, but looked aside. "But I don't even know who your brother is."

"No need to pretend to be interested in him," Oscar-slash-Ernest laughed. "To Xander, this is a job interview. I've got you all's files flying around; you're doing a nice job. Sophy thinks you're engaged, and grandma likes you. Probably because you're a Five, but who cares?"

Nereida smiled. "Sweet. And what about—"

Someone knocked at the door. "Ernest, are you here?" A lower voice of a man, Nereida concluded. Maybe the grandfather?

"Hide behind the couch," Oscar-slash-Ernest whispered, and Nereida dropped the cup of tea onto the table as soon as possible; she followed the motion while Oscar-slash-Ernest moved as well. Nereida, still thinking of the stories of his strict grandfather, decided for once not to peek.

"Coming, father," Oscar-slash-Ernest replied. The door opened.

"Am I interrupting you with something?" his father—that was the king then, wasn't it?—asked with a criticising voice.

"No, not really."

"I can count, you know."

"… So can I? One, two, three—there you go?"

"Two cups of tea."

"Uh," Oscar-slash-Ernest hesitated. "In case Vic comes by?"

Silence.

"Yeah, okay, we both know that ain't happening. How's life?"

"Ernest, please." The King sighed. "Please do not sleep with all of the Selected."

"Wasn't my plan, I promise," Oscar-slash-Ernest replied.

"I'm serious. We need to discuss this, and—"

"Maybe not when I have a young lady waiting for me?" Oscar-slash-Ernest suggested. Nereida nodded. He wasn't even lying!

"… Come to my office this evening, please."

"Sure, sure, will do!"

To some degree, it sounded like he was pushing out someone, and sighed. "Done, you can come out," he announced a few moments later. He dropped onto the couch, groaning. "I wanna go back to Bonita. Eh and, yeah, that was my dad. Fun family, I know." He looked down.

Nereida sat down next to him and picked up her tea again. She nipped on it, having no idea what to say. Oscar-slash-Ernest looked aside bored; he didn't seem interested in a conversation. Yet, Nereida wanted to talk, so what should she do?

"Huh?" Somebody said, and Nereida was pretty sure that it was a female voice. Not Oscar-slash-Ernest. She looked up to the still-opened door, seeing a young, blonde girl in a white dress and—

"A ghost!" Nereida cried out, and pulled Oscar-slash-Ernest in front of her. He could take ghosts out, couldn't he? Surely, he knew more about that—there were no ghosts in Bonita! The Ghost Girl tilted her head, and didn't move.

"Eh—" Oscar-slash-Ernest began.

"Make it go away!" She pointed towards the Ghost Girl.

The Ghost quickly turned around, just as frightened of herself as Nereida was. She was trembling, wasn't she? "What—?!"

"Hey, uh, that's not a ghost," Oscar-slash-Ernest replied. "That's my sister. Vic."

"Where is the ghost?!" Ghost Girl-aka-Vic called out frightened. "Where is it?"

Oscar-slash-Ernest rose with a frown. "Hey, Vic, it's fine—Nereida just confused something. You're good. Why are you even here?"

"There… Xanxan… Tori… Tori said that I should talk to Ernie—where is he?!" The Ghost Girl stumbled backwards. Ernie? Xanxan? Tori? _Who_? There were far too many people in Angeles for Nereida. Far too many. If the Ghost Girl was Oscar-slash-Ernest's sister, then—wait, wasn't she, like, kidnapped? So, she was a ghost after all?

"In front of you," Oscar-slash-Ernest replied with a sigh. "Why aren't you with Tori?"

"She has work…" She pushed herself against the door frame. She was trying to dodge

"Okay, then… Come in? Have tea? You can meet my girlfriend?" Oscar-slash-Ernest hesitated. "You know, Vic, it's me, Ernie. I promise—I just grew up a bit over the years. Like Xanxan did too… And dad. And mum and everyone."

"Who is Xanxan?" Nereida asked.

"Xander," he replied.

"Oh."

Oscar-slash-Ernest leaned back, glancing to Nereida. "If you want, I mean."

He didn't expect the Ghost Girl to actually come in, and honestly, so did Nereida. She looked like Sirena at school—completely out of place and uncomfortable, or the first time Oscar-slash-Ernest accidentally walked into the dressing room at the theatre.

"I want tea." The Ghost girl-aka-Vic stepped into the room, cautious.

Nereida smiled. "Then you can join us! I'm Nereida Statten; nice to meet you!"

"…Vicky," the Ghost Girl introduced herself back. She sat down opposite of the couple, watching them like a lion watched his prey—except that she seemed to be the prey. Poor girl, Nereida thought. She needed to catch up things with Oscar-slash-Ernest, huh?

"Well, yeah, this is Nereida, and even if… even if I've changed over the years, I'm still your brother, you know." Oscar-slash-Ernest hesitated. "Even if we haven't talked in six years."

Ghost Girl-aka-Vicky eyed him, even when he gave Vicky a cup of tea as well. "… I like Nerry more," she muttered.

Oscar-slash-Ernest cringed. "Well, at least she isn't tackling me under water…"

"Huh?" Nereida rose her eyebrows.

"Okay," Oscar-slash-Ernest laughed, "so this one summer…"

/ / /

 **Central Los Angeles, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Harriet Tailor**

Harriet stood with Veira and Sophia. She didn't mind that; a lady like her shouldn't be around Alex Valentino and her vulgar language. Today's 'lesson' was different; Sophia had decided to take them to the central city of Los Angeles. All girls were going to meet later on for sightseeing, but for now, the three girls were standing in the middle of Michael Kors, discussing whenever the leather handbag with feathers or the velvet one in black would fit better a certain dress Sophia owned.

Harriet picked up yet another handbag (black with white and green butterflies; not her taste), glancing at Veira and Sophia. Both, again and again, glanced around themselves and towards the undercover guards that accompanied them.

Most girls had been given the choice whenever they wanted guards or not. Some had taken up the offer, others hadn't. They weren't Selected yet—not officially—and the royal family's security assumed that they weren't at danger yet. Not that much, at least.

"Are you two alright?" she wondered out loud. "You seem worried."

Neither Veira nor Sophia looked like they did normally. Sophia wasn't wearing one of her chiffon dresses; instead, she had gone for black shorts and a purple blouse with a cap and sunglasses. Veira wore a pair of white pants and a wide shirt above it, alongside a hat and, again, sunglasses.

Good, it was March and hot in Los Angeles, and it seemed to work, but it looked off. Especially when Veira and Sophia usually wore such elegant, regal fashion.

"I'm worried about people noticing us," Sophia admitted. "I… I guess the whole group looks like tourists, but still… People might add one and two together or know Cilla or Veira or…"

"It'll be fine," Harriet assured them out of mere politeness. She dropped the bag. Not her style; nothing she would ever bother to wear. Maybe she could look at how the fashion week would go, but that was still ages away…

"Shall we continue on?" she suggested. "Maybe we can find something more adequate than green butterflies somewhere."

Sophia dropped the bag with a nod. "That sounds like a nice idea."

"Anywhere you would like to go, in particular?" Veira asked once they had paid for what they had chosen to buy after all.

"No, not really," Harriet replied. "Honestly, why are we even shopping when there are tailors?"

Sophia laughed out. "Because it's fun!" she insisted. "Have you thought about who to invite, to father's birthday celebration?"

Veira didn't respond; they had established already that her aunt and uncle—her only relatives—would attend either way, and she didn't feel like it was "adequate to invite yet another close friend when they will come already", as she had explained earlier.

As for the King's birthday, of course, Harriet's step-mother had _begged_ for an invitation. Literally. Harriet hadn't given in. She wasn't going to let herself be insulted and humiliated by bringing a gold digger to a royal ball.

"I… Honestly, I would love to just say 'I'll invite my brother'," she replied, looking onto the white marble beneath them.

"That would be absolutely fine," Sophia replied.

"He's MIA," Harriet blurted out. "We never knew how it happened, but he was lost during the Unrest."

At least, she could see genuine pity and discomfort in Sophia's expression. "I'm sorry to hear that," she replied eventually. "When did that happen, if I may ask?"

"We only heard it when the Unrest ended."

"That's terrible." Empty words, but Harriet couldn't help but at least think that she truly felt like that. How had she felt when her brother had been in the war? Worried? Xander Illéa was the Crown Prince. The heir apparent to the throne surely wouldn't go out like a normal soldier, would he?

An awkward silence fell over the three girls; Veira paid for her new bag, and the girls left the store, followed by their undercover bodyguards. They stepped out of the store, back onto the white stone of the shopping centre they had chosen to visit. On the other side, in front of an artificial, little waterfall, an older man sat on the floor. Old and wrinkled, with only one arm, watching a worn-out hat with a few quarters of money.

The girls walked past the beggar without an inch of attention wasted, even when he called out for them. "Please, I just want to survive!" He reached out for the princess.

Sophia's bodyguard stepped in between them, signalising him to stay away from her without one word.

He didn't take that well. "You back-stabbing, uncaring, unempathetic wet sock!" the Eight called out. "Do you even know what I have done for this country?"

Sophia sighed, muttered something under her breath ("Ungrateful? You don't even know.") and walked on. Harriet saw clear hesitation in Veira's step, but with the princess walking on, the lady had no choice but to follow. Maybe it hadn't even been hesitation? Maybe it had been fear? Harriet glanced at the homeless.

Who was he?

Who had he been before society branded him casteless, an Eight?

He lacked an arm, had scars on his face. He looked sick, paranoid, and wore thick jackets despite the warm climate. Harriet frowned, and unfastened her pearl bracelet. "Here, take this," she muttered cold, "Sell it," she told him, and looked up. Sophia and Veira looked at her, almost surprised. "And shut up," Harriet added. She didn't have time for this; Gucchi was waiting for her.

A few purchases later, the three girls were heading towards the meeting point, just a few minutes away from Venice Beach. The three girls weren't the first to arrive; by the looks, Blair Willow, the lifeguard from Clermont had spent the time on the beach, or even in the water. Harriet was surprised that Nereida Statten wasn't with her—weren't they usually together?

Sophia didn't speak up just yet; they knew that it wasn't time for everyone to meet. Instead, she sat down on one of the park banks and quietly watched. Veira followed the motion, prompting Harriet to sit down too. Their conversation went back to clothes.

Everything was peaceful and quiet until a single, called-out word made the princess freeze mid sentence.

"Hey, Cupcake!"

Harriet wouldn't have turned around if the word hadn't made Sophia freeze. It did, however, and she turned to find someone whom she just about couldn't recognise walk towards them. A young male—he definitely had called out one of them. Sophia?

"Pardon me?" Harriet spoke up first when the man stopped in front of them. If he knew Sophia, then who was he to call her 'Cupcake'?

Sophia, on the other hand, blushed. She rose, with a bit of an indignant expression on her usually smiling face. "What—We had an agreement on this."

"If I call out "Your Royal Highness, Princess Sophia Helena of Illéa, please do pay a bit of your infinitely important and precious attention to my devoted, unimportant self, then people are going to turn." He turned to the other two girls. "Hi."

Veira rose. "It's been a while," she replied with a polite smile, conserving the distance between them.

"Yup," he nodded. "And you are… Harry Potter, I mean, Harriet Tailor?"

"… Ernest." Sophia deadpanned. Oh. Harriet looked to the prince, now recognising the features behind the carefully placed disguise. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nah," he shook his head. "But Harry Potter is a good bridge to Harriet Tailor. For me, at least."

Harriet forced a smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Your Royal Highness."

"A bit louder and everyone's gonna notice us."

"Pardon me?"

"I'm fairly confident _I'll_ get into trouble if anyone tells my grandfather that _I'm_ not at the palace and not working." He rolled his eyes.

"Well, he does have a point," Sophia replied.

"But I'm done with work," Ernest sulked.

Sophia shrugged his response off, and instead rose and called out to the other girls. It didn't take much time for the girls to join her. Harriet glanced towards the tourists walking past. Sophia just had spent the whole day worrying about being noticed, but thirty-five girls assembling? They didn't look like tourists _that much.._.

"Do meet my brother—I unfortunately have three of them," Sophia spoke up, a bit too loud for Harriet's taste. But with Los Angeles being Los Angeles, most people just walked past. She curled her lips either way, glancing at Veira who smiled while merely glancing, without any focus. There wasn't going to be any help from her if anyone put one and two together… Oh welp.

"Since we're going to continue with our sightseeing trip and he _happens_ to be here," she glared at him, "I'm sure he'll love to join us!"

"Eeh," Ernest cringed. "Do I have to…?"

Sophia rose her eyebrows. "Now you do."

"I… have… other things to do?"

"Like what?" Sophia laughed.

"Work?!" Ernest replied, baffled.

"Yeah, because we all believe you'd be doing work." It wasn't just Sophia who laughed this time; even Harriet couldn't stop a chuckle. Ernest Illéa's reputation preceded him, and Harriet was quite sure he wasn't at the _beach_ for _work_.

"Is everyone here?" Sophia called out.

/ / /

 **The Siege of Angeles' Battle Field, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Jaira Phillips**

It was hot.

Really, really hot.

As stereotypical for Whites as it was, she was sweating in the heated sun. Anastasia and Jaira had gone to visit the Science Centre and its butterfly pavilion, but rather than eating anywhere around there, they thought it would have been a better idea to come to the meeting point early and look for a place to eat here.

Now, they had finished lunch and Anastasia was enjoying the sun. Jaira was too, except that it was _still_ really, really hot. Therefore, Sophia's call was a lifesaver—Jaira wasn't going to admit defeat to the sun, but she had a reason to leave.

Unlike some of the girls (hey, Nereida Statten for once did not speak up!), Jaira recognised Sophia's brother fairly quickly. She didn't waste time with listening to their banter; it was private and not her concern… except that she was a bit curious.

Nothing but sibling banter she knew though, so Jaira cut out her attention. Anastasia was talking with Rosy Tillings about research, and to be fair, this was a much more interesting conversation. Rosy's best friend, Kate Blanchard, was skipping around. She had found out that Irina Cavanah liked another one of her favourite books, and the two were lost in a discussion about them.

To be fair, _The Lord of the Rings_ was good.

The group, thirty-five girls plus two royals plus staff, was large enough to go through as real tourist group by now, so the bus that they went with gave the whole thing the final touch. Add a camera and a map of Los Angeles and Jaira really would have felt like a tourist. Kate made a point of sitting in the front, nearby the two royals, and the other three accepted. There was no reason not to, even if there also was no particular reason to go to the front either…

They went past sights; conversations went on and Jaira found herself enjoying them just as always. Only when Rosy briefly touched her sister—the name rung a bell; a model?—she remembered to be wary.

Rosy's sister had been a model, killed during the Great Unrest. It wasn't particularly who Rosy's sister was, but rather the Unrest that reminded Jaira. She glanced at Anastasia. With the topic not having popped up anytime in the past, there had been no occasion to dig further on _why_ Anastasia was so uncomfortable about it.

Turned out that this was going to change very soon.

By the time the sun was setting above the beautiful skyline, Jaira noticed that the appearance of the houses around her changed. Many construction sites. Less people on the streets. A movie poster for _The World Is Watching._ Jaira frowned—she knew that movie. It was one of her sister's favourites. It wasn't the movie (it was _good_ ) that was the issue, but rather the fact that it had been released about two years ago.

On her phone, Jaira found where they were heading. "The last battlefield of the Siege of Angeles?" she asked to no one in particular.

She was fairly sure that no one picked her up, but she also heard Ernest Illéa pointing the same thing out, a row in front of her. "Sophy, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Uh, you literally have veterans here. Going by the statistics, about half the population lost one close relative or friend at least, and—"

"Have you turned into Louis?" the princess laughed. "I thought he was the one good with statistics?"

"Yes," Ernest muttered, "Louis is better at maths than I am, but that's not my point. You'll end up in trouble. Does Xander know?"

Sophia shrugged. "I don't know. He has lots of things to do. I doubt he's read all the stuff I've sent him… We really need to figure out his workload for this…"

"Tell that to dad." His voice was grim.

Sophia rose her voice. " _His wife_ died!" The bus grew quieter.

"Newsflash—she's my mother too. He coped when Victoria and Lucia—" Ernest's reply was quieter, but the force behind it didn't subside. Jaira agreed. The King had continued after his daughter had been kidnapped and niece had been killed…

"It was too much. You know that with the breakdown he had, he needs time off to recover. The whole Unrest was too much stress—no one could handle that." Even though she hadn't heard of a breakdown… With the amount of medical knowledge, she had from work, she pondered. A breakdown from stress, as in a nervous breakdown? A colleague had such an issue a year ago; work at I-TEC was challenging and only the best of the best were employed. By the time she had left Whites, said colleague hadn't returned.

No, Jaira thought. She wasn't a doctor and in no place to make assumptions. The King had ruled the country better than other countries had done. There was always Britain and the mess ups the Windsors currently dealt with...

Okay, the threat of war with another country wasn't as worse as a civil war, but at least it was over.

Ernest sighed. No response to his original question—where they were heading to and if it was a good idea—but at least, something interesting to know for Jaira. Sophia rose and picked up the mic of the bus. "We're heading to our final spot," Sophia explained. "This is a spot of historical importance. Anyone got a guess?"

Jaira rose her hand and answered. "The Siege of Angeles ended here."

"That's not a tourist attraction," Rosy pressed out, just loud enough for Jaira, who sat in front of her, to hear. Understandable, Jaira thought. She wouldn't add this to her sightseeing tour either. The bus came to a halt, and Kate jumped up. Rosy sighed at her enthusiasm.

The girls moved out of the bus one by one. With the amount of people on the bus, Jaira decided to wait for Anastasia. She was fishing around in her handbag, almost as if she lost something. Maybe she had, Jaira wondered.

"Did you lose something?"

"N-no, it's fine," Anastasia gave her a smile. She forced it, Jaira noted, but then stood up, clutching her backpack. Jaira's eyes remained with her. Anastasia Collins really was hiding something, and she was pretty sure it was related to the Great Unrest.

Ernest got off just in front of them. "Do you really think this a good idea?" he asked again.

Sophia nodded. "Of course. History needs to be remembered; we need to learn of past mistakes!" she cheered.

"Is that worth bringing up bad memories?" Her brother sounded bitter. Jaira looked up to the ruins in front of her. She had heard enough of the story in the news, but Kate, going by the looks, hadn't. The words "Hunger Games" and "District Thirteen" came from her.

This time, they had no tour guide. "So, they aren't turning this into a monetizer?" Rosy muttered next to them.

Jaira didn't see the need for pretending not to notice Rosy's disdain of the royal family, but she wasn't as secretive and hiding about it as her connection with the war. Jaira locked her eyes onto Rosy's expression. So, to say, it felt like while Anastasia wanted to forget and hide it, Rosy was angry, almost salty and would never forget.

Therefore, Rosy wasn't as interesting as Anastasia.

Jaira couldn't look beyond her tenseness. It there wasn't her red hair, she'd bet that her neck hair stood straight up. While the girls followed the two royals, Jaira listened only a very few times. They spoke about what had happened—boring war talk, she summarised. Discussions about the dangerous weapons usage of the rebels—pardon, uprising—and how many people died when they let bombs go off in the nearby hospital, how toxic gases killed and mutilated poor children and…

"I wonder if the Black Rose was used here too…" she heard Anastasia whisper.

Oh no. Now, her neck hairs moved. Jaira Phillips turned to Anastasia Collins, with an expression as blank as a white paper. "You know about her?"

Gone was the eyes looking at Anastasia's red neck. They locked eyes, both frozen to stone. There they stood, as the rest of the Selection moved on. Slowly, Jaira shook her head. "Let's not," she stuttered.

"Let's not," Anastasia agreed.

/ / /

 **The Siege of Angeles' Battlefield, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Irina Cavanah**

She had no idea.

Sophia's bright voice was _wrong_. Fucking wrong.

Somewhere around, Deylin and Andreia were talking. Rie had chosen to stay back, and _oh my gosh_ , Irina agreed that this would have been the right decision for her too. Grey—everything was so grey and dark and dusty.

"Hey, Irina? Are you alright?"

Irina knew that this place—it had been where the last battle field of the whole fucking war had been. Here, really, and nowhere else. Not in that mysterious safe house where the Queen had passed. Here. Because in those old houses, once build to control the homeless population of Los Angeles, the rebellion had been hiding all along.

Had he been here?

Ever?

Trembling, Irina placed her hand against the dirty cement walls of the building. There was a hole—from a bullet? Probably. From which side? She didn't know. Irina's eyes wandered upward. Even the sky seemed to have lost its colour. Grey. Damn gray.

"Hm?" she turned around.

"Have you been here before?" Andreia asked, carefully.

"No, I haven't," she shook her head. But from what she knew, at some point, he had been in Angeles… What if—she knew about contact bans. What if he had been alive until this—?!

"Bad memories?" Andreia began. "Rie and Minnie haven't come any closer to this either. You don't need to be out here."

"I have to." Irina spoke without thinking. "I have to."

Because this could have been the place, for all she knew. The last letter had been long before this, but it could be that… She glanced up the building, ignoring the colourless sky. It hurt. It hurt seeing it so empty. Empty. _Empty_.

"What happened to these buildings?" she asked to no one in particular. She doubted Andreia knew the answer.

"From what I heard," Andreia began, "a bit of air force bombing after Princess Victoria was rescued, and suicide-bombs. Dedication to the cause, I guess…"

"How come you know?"

"My parents work in the air force. They were involved into the strike, and at first, people believed the princess was still in here and panicked. Everyone panicked. But the order had been given..."

"Should you tell me that? Should you even know that?"

"I probably shouldn't," Andreia admitted. "But you don't look like you're taking in information either." Taking in information? No, she wasn't. She wasn't at all. She was glaring at the broken towers, with no real thought forming. Thoughts. _Thoughts_. No, it didn't work. It didn't work at all.

"Evan…" Irina muttered. Had he been alive, even when she had come to believe he wasn't it? Had he been alive? Until here? Had he been working in Angeles, and had been unable to contact anyone? Was that why they had never received a note of his death?

Evan. The image of her brother before he left them was burned into their memory. He had been too soft, too nice, too friendly for the war. Evan, the guy who saved a kitten from the tree, did not belong on the battlefield. He didn't belong between guns and explosion, fire and death.

Irina knew that there were still corpses in these ruins unrecovered.

Was that why? He had just been noted as missing? Was he in here?

Had he been here? Torn apart, by guns hiding his body? Had the last thing he had seen was the failing battle of rebel headquarter? Had he survived until here? Had he been here? Had he seen the princess escaping, the miracle that nobody really could explain?

Or had he kept on? Had he kept on, until the air force was given the OK to take off and bomb these towers? Had he been in the buildings that were crushed by concrete? Had he been hit by the heat wave? Had he survived that, had he fallen afterwards—

Irina's breath stopped.

"Are you alright?" Andreia repeated, concerned. What a good friend, but she didn't know. She hadn't seen people being _torn apart_ by blows.

Irina kept a strong face. "Yes. I just… I… need to be alone for a moment." For flashbacks and bad dreams. For Evan and his body that might just be around the corner. She rushed past the two royals.

Sophia's bright voice was _wrong_. Fucking wrong.

She had no idea.

/ / /

 **Next Chapter:** »Newsflash, it's eleven o'clock«

 **pLoT tWiSt the playwright is the guy that's named after his most famous play.**

 **More importantly-after the first meetings, the girls have a Meet & Greet with the public. What questions do you want (which girls, or everyone) to answer? Go wild. :) I need these to be able to continue writing.**

 **I'll do a bit of an upload break until other people managed to catch up; I know that a lot of people are behind, and I don't want them to need to catch up on 28031 chapters. I'll see how long I'll stay away from posting; it'll hopefully give me a chance to write ahead again and study more-I have exams coming up.**


	23. Chapter 22

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, the girls paused their lessons for a trip to Los Angeles. Nereida finally met Oscar again, who turned out to be Ernest. While she wasn't particularly surprised, she insists that she has no idea of who the royal family is, essentially. Harriet, Veira and Sophia went shopping together, and for a brief moment, Harriet was conflicted between helping a homeless person and being the lady she's meant to be. Jaira and Anastasia disclose a secret to each other that doesn't lessen Jaira's suspicions of Anastasia, and Irina remembers her brother who passed away in the war in a less-than-comfortable way._

 **Chapter 22**

»Newsflash, it's eleven o'clock«

 **Third floor hallway of the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

Xander was, by all means, glad that schedule changes worked out, and Evan was with him now. Even if he had spent the whole morning teasing him about being an 'awkward muffin'. He was also quite pleased with the organisation Sophia and her team had done.

"Admit it," Tori laughed, "you're just happy because you've avoided the girls since they arrived this morning."

"I am not," Xander insisted.

"You look nervous, Xanxan," Victoria pointed out hesitant. The cup of tea in her hands was by all means not her first today, but Xander had found that his youngest sister provided a surprisingly acceptable excuse not to join Sophia and Ernest in helping the girls find their way around. Victoria looked like she wasn't going to leave her rooms anytime soon, though…

"I am not," Xander insisted again.

"And I'm a green squirrel," Evan deadpanned.

"Are green squirrels possible?" Victoria asked, genuinely confused.

"Don't listen to him," Tori told her.

"I agree," Xander sighed. "You are impossible."

"Yes, you are impossible, Cavanah," Tori laughed. "Where's the soft, lovely little boy when you joined the military?"

"Excuse me?!" Evan shook his head. "What am I even doing here?"

"Your job?" Tori suggested. "Oh, _by the way_ , talking about jobs, Xander." She glared at him. "Don't you have a Selection to hold?"

Xander didn't overlook the cringing expression in his sister's face. They still hadn't really spoken about the Selection, had they? Victoria had asked him about it, and accepted it with a quiet nod. Was there anything that she didn't just accept anymore?

Not really, huh?

"She's right," Evan admitted. "It's time for the first meetings."

This time, Xander cringed. Internally, sure, but he even noticed himself tensing up. "Yes, I am aware…"

"Good luck," Victoria replied with a faint smile. She meant it to encourage, Xander assumed, but couldn't bring herself to do more.

Xander left his sister's rooms silently, shadowed by Evan as a member of the royal guard. The hallways of the Illéa Palace seemed much thinner than usual. Again, why was he so nervous? What was there to worry about? Just thirty-five girls. The Selection had worked out perfectly fine in all past years. His mother and father. His grandparents. His great-grandparents that he never met.

Why wouldn't it work for him?

"Xander, if you continue looking that tense, then the people will think somebody is pushing you into a lake with crocodiles, and not into a Selection," Evan worried. He wasn't joking this time; this was a well-intended warning.

Xander nodded thankfully. They stopped, with him breathing slowly. He hadn't taken much time to take a break in the past few days either. While the New Asian-Illéan summit had gone well, the threat— _no, it's not a threat_ —of the girls' arrival made his neck hairs stand up.

"You know, the girls are meant to impress you," Evan reminded him.

"I know," Xander nodded. "I don't even know _why_ I am nervous."

It wasn't like he hadn't ever spoken to any girl. It wasn't like he hadn't ever flirted with any girl or something like that. He had friends too—against popular opinion—and there was no reason he wouldn't suddenly run into obvious faux-pas with the girls, was there? He really should have read these reports…

"OH MY GOD."

Xander jumped, and recognised two girls standing in the hallway. They had just come down the stairs from the third floor—his safe space, now—but the girls were meant to remain in the Women's Room with Sophia until—maybe he really was late.

"Evan?!"

"Oh, right, hey!" Evan smiled and waved at one of the girls; Xander recognised her from the files. Irina Cavanah. Four. Construction site management trainee. Former soldier, stationed in, he believed, Carolina? From Ottaro. Wait—Cavanah? Like in Evan Cavanah? "I haven't seen you in ages!"

By the time Evan said these words, Irina was already hugging him. They were siblings; Xander vaguely remembered that Evan had a sister. The resemblance between these two was undeniable for sure. The tears on Irina's face, however, were a bit confusing. Surely, this wasn't the first time that they saw each other since the war's end, was it?

"I thought you were dead!" She didn't let go.

Okay, maybe it was.

"What?" Evan repeated surprised. "How? Why?"

"We never heard of you when you left, and then…" Irina broke off, wiping off the tears. "And then there were these rumours about a bunch of soldiers in Angeles gone missing and presumed dead and then when we hadn't heard of you since you left home…"

Evan frowned. "I did send a letter when I moved to my unit in Angeles, because I couldn't contact you after that." He turned to Xander, both knowing all too well which unit that was. His. The Crown Prince's unit. No contact had been allowed for _his_ safety. "Do you know what's up?"

Xander shook his head. "I could only guess that the postal services screwed up. There was a lot of that happening."

"Ottaro isn't a red province."

"There were even issues in the far south and north," Xander remembered. "I wouldn't be able to explain otherwise, but I'll have someone look into it."

"Thanks," Evan replied. "This is my sister, by the way."

Right. First meetings. First reactions captured on camera. They evidently could scrap that idea. Good, Xander thought. He didn't like that idea either way.

"I assumed," Xander replied with a chuckle. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Irina."

Irina replied with a clumsy curtsy. No wonder; she was still crying. "The pleasure is mine, Your Royal Highness." She laughed, more at herself than anyone else. "Sorry, I'm just… I thought you were dead." One more time, she hugged Evan. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh," Evan laughed. "Somebody has to make sure Xander doesn't get lost, right?"

" _Pardon me?_ " Xander turned red. "Excuse me?"

Evan chose to ignore him. "No, I just work at the palace Guard now."

"And you never thought about ringing, or coming by, or sening a message? It's been months!"

"To be fair," the other girl, Andreia Jensen, pointed out, "my parents, who work in the Air Force, were busier in the months after the Siege than they were during it." She proceeded to acknowledge him as well, with a less clumsy curtsey. Not as ladylike as Sophia could do—by far not. It reminded him of Tori, a soldier, although Andreia didn't mock it. "Contact was difficult for me as well."

"It was quite a chaos," Xander agreed. He smiled at Andreia. "Good morning, Lady Andreia."

Andreia Jensen, Two, police detective, from Calgary, he remembered. She came from a family active in the Air Force for generations; it probably came from that, he assumed. Andreia and Irina were friends, probably.

"Good morning," she replied.

"Evan, do you might just want to…" Xander began, hoping that his friend would get the hint.

Evan did. "Hey, Irina, do you just wanna come around? Catch up and all?"

Irina nodded, wiping away yet another tear from her cheek. "Hmhm."

That was one girl less to meet, Xander thought a bit too hopeful. Well, at some point, that had to happen either way. He didn't want to force Irina to sit in a camera after that, though. Maybe they could record that one tomorrow morning or so. Give her time, he decided. She deserved it.

Besides, Xander wasn't stupid. He had some vague outline on who wouldn't stay the third day, and Irina wasn't on the list of leavers.

Andreia turned to him, reminding Xander that there were far too many girls to meet. Even if he didn't particularly feel like doing that. Even though he was standing just outside the room with the ladies, it didn't feel real. They weren't there, in his mind, that all was still a _month_ away.

March had been far too short.

"Shall we?" Xander, trying to be as polite (and distant, to be honest) as possible, gestured to the door.

"Yes, I'd say so," Andreia Jensen replied, and followed him through the door to the thirty-five girls who were listening to Abby Moon explain the setup. For the time, the girls would sit here; Ernest had suggested to have an open brunch. This was going to take most of the day, and he wasn't going to let the girls sit around without food. This whole meeting-thing was going to take at least four hours either way.

Plus, there was the ridiculous idea of Sophia to film the whole thing.

"Good evening—" Xander cursed silently. It was what? Eleven o'clock?

Ernest to the rescue, or so. "Newsflash, it's eleven o'clock." He, unlike Louis, had been happy to come along and give the girls some form of company. Or he was here for the food. Everyone was, probably.

Everyone shared a chuckled, good. Xander couldn't help to laugh as well. "I am aware," he laughed. "Good morning." Thankfully, Tori or Evan weren't here. They wouldn't let him hear the end of it.

"Better," Ernest continued his commentary. Right, that reminded him. He had been put in charge of playing host of the Selection.

And there he was, lost at words. "I hope Sophy," he turned to his sister who was smiling happily, not giving any reaction, "has explained to you all how today works?" Nods. "Great, she didn't tell me much," he added muttering. "Please come join me after I call your name in the adjacent drawing room. Lady Minerva Whitefield of Allens, please."

Nodding. Great. Xander took a deep breath, trying to remember the name of the first Selected. Minerva Whitefield, or something like that. One of the three I-TEC girls. He asked her to join him, and thank god, he got the name right.

To be fair, Minerva, called Minnie, remained polite and the conversation felt, at most, like a job interview. Xander began with asking her to introduce herself again, and her response sounded quite well. Good career, enjoyed work and hobbies, close to her parents, engaged with some social topics, soldier during the Unrest.

He thanked her for her time without saying very much of himself. They had shared a few things about her time in the army, but five minutes weren't much; Xander barely even got beyond a few questions about her introduction.

To be fair, he hadn't thought about what to say. He hadn't forgotten (by all means, it had kept him awake) but avoided thinking of questions. Besides, conversations had to be flowing natural and all, shouldn't it?

He followed the previous Selected, Lady Nereida Statten, outside and turned to the girls, happily speaking with each other, eating and talking to Ernest and the cameras. Everyone seemed happy, and hopefully, these conversations would be good enough for Sophia to include rather than his polite and distant conversations.

"Lady Andreia Jensen, of Calgary, please." Xander continued. He had only spoken to eight ladies, but Andreia was, at least, the friend of Evan's sister. The blonde police detective rose from a conversation with Rie Jespersen of Midston and Deylin Reyes of Panama. Irina hadn't arrived yet, but they came from Ottaro, so there was enough time not to worry.

Andreia nodded and rose, following him to the adjacent, smaller and more private room. Xander gestured to the sofa, "Please, sit."

"It's a pleasure, again," Andreia replied. "I hope your day has been going well?"

"It has been, and the pleasure is mine," he replied. Small talk. Usually, nothing bad, but genuinely, he had enough of that already. "Would you mind starting with introducing yourself again? While I did have the chance to read through your application, I would prefer to hear it in person." Partwise, this he had thought of after Louis' comment on one of the girls.

"Of course. My name is Andreia Jensen, and I work for the Calgary City Police Department."

"Was that always your goal?"

"Not particularly," Andreia admitted. "I wanted to join the Air Force as soon as possible, because it's a tradition in my family."

"I thought I knew that name," Xander nodded.

Andreia smiled politely. "Thank you." Not once, she stopped eye contact. Xander smiled back. She looked confident; he liked that. "My parents were active during the Unrest, and they discouraged me, particularly my father."

"He works in the Air Force then, I assume?"

Andreia nodded. "Yes. He explained that it wasn't even the Unrest going on, but other worries."

"The hacker attack," Xander concluded.

"Hacker?" Andreia repeated surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Early on, the Air Force was subject to a large digital attack. All systems, including many aircrafts, were affected. It reached other departments too, but the Air Force was hit most."

"Oh…" Andreia nodded. "I apologise. I wasn't aware."

Xander nodded. "That's good then," he replied. "If that had reached the public, people would have panicked. With the Air Force, we would have been able to end the Unrest much faster, and lost much less lives, but unfortunately…"

"The system was too destroyed?"

"The backup servers were wiped too, yes," he nodded. "Back to the topic—you."

She laughed. "Sure, is there anything particularly that you'd like to hear?"

Xander cringed. "I'm not sure?" He laughed. "What do you do after work?"

Andreia nodded. Even though she didn't break the eye contact—which grew uncomfortable; she seemed to be watching him, and the camera was doing that already—she seemed to be thinking, before laughing. "Well, I often join my colleagues for a drink. What do you do?"

"Round about the same, expect not with colleagues."

"Who then?" Andreia asked amused.

"Mostly my friends. Evan, Irina Cavanah's brother as it seems, and his co-workers mostly. Some other friends who work nearby join us, and it's mostly just us going to a nearby bar or staying here."

"Like your brother?" she teased a bit.

"The difference is in how much attention Ernest attracts," Xander replied calmly. He had expected the girls to eventually come around to asking about that. However, considering that Sophia and he himself frequently met with their friends too, he saw no reason to pretend that Ernest was not always the golden boy.

"I see," Andreia replied.

"I'd say I can give better recommendations than Ernest as well; he likes loud clubs, but it's not particularly a nice place to be if you want to just have a good evening."

"I would love to hear that," Andreia nodded.

"I will remember it," Xander nodded and rose. Enough time, he decided. He had some interesting things about her, and probably already talked too much about the Air Force incident. "Thank you for your time, Lady Andreia—just please do me the favour and don't particularly mention the Air Force accident to anyone."

Andreia nodded. "Of course."

He accompanied Andreia outside, before going on with the next Selected. And to be completely fair to everyone, faces blurred as fast on his vision as when he arrived at his mother's dead body.

Xander tried his best, but the longer he spoke to the ladies, the more they blended into one other. He knew everyone's name, but which of the two girls accompanying two Selected was called Annie? He couldn't remember.

"Lady Leda Conner of Labrador, please," he asked, making the mental note that after this, he would ask Sophia or Ernest about it. He couldn't see either of them being too invested with children, but they'd probably know. Too bad that he could have sworn that both girls' names started with A.

"Of course, your highness, it's a pleasure," Leda rose and followed him.

Next one, just the same pattern, Xander decided. "Would you mind beginning with introducing yourself?" he suggested.

"Of course," Leda nodded. Did she notice the repetition? She looked confident too. Good. Some girls before (he was losing count; he should have taken notes, but how did that look?) hadn't. Xander barely had been able to understand what they stuttered, he thought, as Leda said something. To be fair, she sounded growingly confident, although not as much as before. Maybe this was new to her, too.

What was he thinking—of course this was new.

There was no way all these girls had been in a Selection before. They were too young to be in his father's Selection and—but what if not? What if someone faked their identity? What? No! There was no way that would have passed the security checks!

Thinking of that, Xander looked at Leda who was talking about her experience when she interned under somebody. He tried to look as attentive as he did during certain meetings about cultural inheritance and remembrance of pre-Illéa times. Louis surely would handle them better; he just had to be present because reasons.

About meetings—he wondered whenever Sophia had listened to him onto the clothing budget. Leda's outfit wasn't anything bad—quite adequate, actually—but some other girl—Kate Blanchard, he believed—had looked a bit very much out of place. Besides that, spending four thousand—

Xander stopped his train of thought when he noticed that Leda had fallen silent.

"Your Highness? Is there an issue?" she asked, polite and distant. He hadn't noticed her stopping talking. _Good job, Xander_.

"The name you mentioned—your mentor, I believe?—it sounds familiar to me. I was surprised. Pardon me." Xander forced one of these smiles that he had given the public when he discussed his father's absence. It couldn't be faker, but back then, it had worked. For all the public thought, he was just grieving the passing of his wife, and otherwise fine.

"He did work in your father's government, but that is quite a while ago. More than fifteen years, I believe."

Oh, what? Xander hadn't listened to whoever it had been, but he did remember one of the Selected to be connected to a former government advisor. Probably Leda, he assumed.

"I guess that was it then. I assume he influenced you a lot, considering how much you mentioned him?"

Surprise flashed in her eyes; nothing your average John Smith would have noticed, but Xander was too used to sitting with politicians and military people to whom showing surprise or lying could cost them their job. A fortunate skill he was glad about, and should have had in the past.

"Definitely," Leda agreed. "I decided not to continue working for him though; I thought going somewhere else would help to broaden my horizon."

"That sounds like a great idea," Xander replied, suppressing the desire to point out that 'broaden one's horizon' usually referred to something else than just working with someone else, but who was he to talk? He didn't exactly have many career options. He understood.

"It was," Leda replied, with an equally empty smile.

"I would love to hear more, but we only have so much time. Thank you, though."

He guided Leda out, stopping next to his sister who eyed him. Leda probably had been one of the 'job application girls', as Sophia and Ernest liked to call them. To be fair, Leda was much more comfortable to be around than Kate and her Twilight thing; he knew what to deal with and Leda evidently was talented. Definitely another keeper, at least for now.

That were two, maybe more.

But besides that, Sophia eying him reminded him of that one question he still had. "Sophia," he whispered to his sister, "which one of the girls is Annie again?"

Sophia chuckled, clutching her soft pink, with glitter stones on this, clipboard closer. "Both of them."

"Oh well…" Xander replied quietly. "Do you remember that job interview comment you did?"

"Yes…?"

"I like the job interview ones more."

Sophia cringed. "Please don't—"

Xander turned around, facing the girls. Some of them were muttering—why? Had something happened? Ernest was laughing, but he was talking to Kate Blanchard happily. Abby Moon was sitting with Veira and Harriet Tailor. Nothing should have happened.

"What happened?" he whispered.

"The first time your reaction was anything else but going on to the next name."

"… Right," her turned to the girls, not sure if it was relief or more worry that filled him. "Lady France King of Lakedon, please." That name, who named their child after a country? A country after oneself, Xander somewhat understood, but imagine being named America or something like that…

Lady France King's most interesting point was her name, to be honest, and so, when he went on, he was glad to realise that he knew the next girl. "Lady Leila Sinclair of Likely, please."

Leila, sitting next to Alessandra "Alex" Valentino, whispered something to her, and then rose. Xander tried to remember her, but the only thing he remembered was that she repeatedly asked to be called Alex before he even managed to say her name for the second time.

"It's been a while," he pointed out, while Leila sat down.

Leila gave him a smile of mere seconds. "Yes, it has been."

It _had been_ a while. Xander couldn't even remember the last time he had seen Leila. Vaguely, he remembered some form of event hosted by his mother or so, but that was prior to the civil war—definitely not a few days.

"How have you been?"

"I changed?" Leila suggested. "You did, everyone did."

"That's true," Xander agreed.

"I became a firefighter. I've pretty much been up to that." Leila glanced at the cup of tea she was holding in her hands. A born lady, definitely, Xander thought. What had driven her to turning to the Illéan firefighters? Usually, that was an occupation people came into through the draft, not through volunteering…

"Do you mind if I ask something?" Leila placed the cup, empty, on the coffee table.

"No, go ahead." He took the right to deny an answer—at least after Helena had mentioned overhearing a discussion between two ladies about his virginity.

"How do you justify living with god-knows-how-many servants at your call during war time?"

Xander looked up from his own cup. _That_ question. Leila formulated it politely, calm, and not as an accusation, but by all means, it was one in the end. Xander didn't deny that. Leila's expression was nothing but a polite smile. Yes, she absolutely was a lady of the Illéan elite. How curious for her to ask such a question, he noted.

"How many people do you think work at the Illéa Palace—outside the Selection?"

"Huh?"

"Just guess."

"I don't know… a hundred?"

"About five hundred, give or take. That is excluding anyone working in the government or so. Now, imagine we chose to lower the costs of the household by decreasing the number of servants to the absolute minimum under which it can run as centre for the government." Xander placed his cup down. "Many people would lose their occupation. In war time too—when the rest of their families maybe have lost their job, too. We considered it briefly, yes, but considering how many positions had already been lost, and that these people would find even more struggles, we chose to continue."

"What about now? Why hold the Selection when Illéa is still rebuilding? Why hold the Selection when there are thousands struggling with the consequences?"

Xander nodded. "A good question. Illéa is rebuilding, and people are still struggling. That is true. However, rebuilding takes one thing—time. There is little stopping the process at the moment; you can't just snap your finger and things go back to how it was. We need to wait for houses to be rebuild and life to restore itself."

"But why spend so much money on the Selection when people would need it to survive?"

"How much money do you think you'd need to feed everyone, to pay for all medical bills and everything that can be considered as 'struggling with the consequences', Leila?"

"I don't know? It's not my job, it's yours."

If would be, if she became his wife, Xander noted. Leila should know that… "I don't know the number by heart, but it's far above what we can logically spend. The Selection, unless it drags on too long or takes too little, makes profit, in the end. It boosts morals too, and it's inevitable either way. I like to view it as an end to this chapter of history."

"That sounds like one big cliché."

"It does sound like something Sophia would say, yes."

Leila chuckled. Were Leila and Sophia still in contact? They had been somewhat friends ages ago.

 _Ages ago_ , Xander reminded himself. This 'ages ago' felt like another life.

"Well," he began, knowing that the time was over. Good, he thought. He didn't want to discuss these subjects. "Thank you for your time, Lady Leila."

Back to the elegant socialite, Leila nodded with a soft expression. Both knew the formality, both knew that their smiles weren't genuine, but a sign of respect. He appreciated that. Necessary by all means, but different from how Xander was around his friends. "It's a pleasure," she replied.

He accompanied Leila back, wondering whenever someone genuine or someone with a knowledge and appreciation for the rules of respect and life would be better. Both had good points. His mother had never been well-versed in these rules, he remembered, and he had seen the fallout of that. His grandmother sometimes felt like the opposite.

At least as much as he remembered of the Queen Mother. Maybe she had been different as queen.

Leila lived in Likely. That made Midston the next province. Midston was… Xander looked up to the girls. Sophia was talking to Harriet and Veira, Ernest was chatting with Minerva "Minnie" Whitefield, Sawyer Reyes and Deylin Roth—or was it the other way around? He had spoken to Sawyer, yes. Her brother was working as nurse for the army, he believed? Something like that influenced her, or so. He hadn't spoken to her friend, yet.

They were sitting with Irina—so she had come back? Good—and Gabriella—Rie?—in the corner. Gabriella was the Midston Selected, he remembered. The handicapped veteran, he remembered. The one Ernest had been wary of.

"Lady Gabriella Jespersen of Midston, please."

She wheelchaired over to him, quick and without hesitation. Poor girl, he thought. At least she seemed to have gotten used to her life in a chair.

"May I help you?" he asked when she reached him, mere seconds later. Seconds filled with more of silence, of girls looking at her, and Ernest giving him a "I told you so" look, just dodging the camera next to him.

"I'm fine, thank you," Rie replied sharply.

 _Sharp—why?_ Xander stepped back. He just wanted to be friendly, he thought. "Alright, as you want…" Thinking of Victoria, he decided that there probably was something he didn't understand.

It was Xander following her (really, you couldn't just overtake a wheelchair in the doorframe), not the other way around as for most others. He remembered Rie's form to be direct, open and blunt. He didn't mind it, although Leda had been easier to handle.

His last romantic experience with someone 'rather blunt' had been more questionable than anything else. It also involved a gun and a broken heart. Nothing he wanted to do again.

"Would mind you—what?" Xander sighed, wanting to facepalm. "I need sleep."

"So do I," Rie laughed, now amused. Maybe he really just had said one wrong thing. God knew what she had seen in the war. "Unfortunately, I'm busy working."

"Yes, that would be the reason for me, too. Would you mind starting with an introduction?"

"The name's Rie Jespersen, in case you forgot," she replied with a grin. So, she indeed preferred Rie. Maybe in private, Xander thought, but she, too, would need to grow used to a more formal setting. "I'm twenty-two, and… what else do you want to know? What do you not know?" She asked, leaning back.

"Whatever matters most to you," Xander replied, trying to pretend to have an idea of what to say. "I am interested in—I don't know—what," he sighed, again. "Whatever matters most to you and you view as most adequate to speak about.

Rie hesitated, thinking. "That's a hard one. What about you?"

"My family," Xander replied, thinking of Victoria and Lysandre Illéa. It wasn't a difficult question to respond, no doubt. "My country, peace… You?"

"Family and dog, yeah, I'd agree with that statement. Is that your introduction?"

Xander huffed amused. "I assume you know half of it," he replied.

"What about hobbies? What do you do with your time? Do you even have time, or is that the reason you need a nap?"

Did he want to reply to that? The general census was 'Don't let the public now too much; keep work and private life apart', but then again, the Selection was… no. Not yet. Real connections could wait until… whatever. They could wait.

Until sometime…. When Sophy stopped bugging him, he decided. Maybe something more obvious.

"Swimming, I would say, and just spending time with friends." There was more, sure, but these hobbies were almost too embarrassing to name. "You?"

"Hmm…" Rie paused. "Cooking, I'd say." Oh. "Journaling, too. Spending time with our dog, if that counts."

"Sure it does."

Rie leaned back, rising her eyebrows. "Alright. My turn to ask a question. The, uh, Sloth Girl, has been rather curious about whenever you're a virgin or not. What's up with that, and why does your sister refuse to answer?"

"What?" Xander laughed out loud. She couldn't be serious! "I'd hope because she's got the decency not to talk about my private life? I don't know? But, are you serious?" Was that something the girls discussed?

"I'm serious," Rie insisted, her face not moving an inch, "but alright. Another question. Melon on pizza—yes or no? Answer carefully."

"I…" Xander had to stop. "I did not have that experience yet. You would need to show me."

"Fair," Rie admitted. "I did say I liked cooking. I guess pizza counts."

Xander's glanced at his watch as he made the mental note to remember that. "Well, thank you very much for your time."

Xander watched Rie leave for a moment, before proceeding with the next girl. Really, these meetings were set up like job interviews, and that wasn't even his fault. At least not _this_ time. He glanced at Sophia, who happily bounced on her feet, seeing things moving.

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **Onlytooktwentytwochapterstogetsofaryay**

 **Y'all can thank Pocket for the Bachelor references here.**

 **I'll take this opportunity to advertise for a new SYOC, Crazy Rich Illéans, that I recently uploaded. It's more freeform and follows the original outline less, but really fun to write. Fallout remains my priority though. Check it out!**


	24. Chapter 23

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, the first meetings happened, with Irina, Leila, Andreia, Leda, and Rie being the ones Xander actually remembered. Things went rather awkward. Xander also spent time with Tori, Vic and Evan, who is Irina's dead-believed brother. Irina and Evan reunited._

 **Chapter 23**

» It's fun! I promise!«

 **Xander's office in the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

Xander did not even remember what the Lady of Zuni had spoken about. Repetitive introductions mixed with each other after he reached Angeles alone, and by now, only a very few things stuck to his memory. Melon pizza, that was Rie. Apologies for loud music in advance, that was Anastasia. Leila asking about the number of servants.

Other than that? He could still name each girl with age, province, caste and occupation, but he had been able to do that before they arrived in Los Angeles, so that barely even counts for beforehand.

Therefore, he was glad to leave for a meeting discussing the efforts to build new towns in Sumner. The lady of Sumner's name had come up, Isla Woodley, about possibly being involved with the project, but to be honest, Xander didn't remember anything about her except her niece, and she could be, for all he knew, an orphan of the war while Isla, a Seven, remained uninterested in the rebuilding. For whatever reasons.

Xander, now in yet another meeting, leaned forward, suppressing a yawn. It was back to the Selection, discussing the very first broadcast that they planned for this week. Each Report would last longer, he already assumed, looking at the amount of footage Ernest created. To be fair, he was good at it. Even though each girl was given exactly the same questions ("What makes you unique? Why should you win? Who, besides you, of course, is the most interesting Selected?"), when they watched a few of the clips, Xander found himself glad that Ernest was the one to end up with the job. It was just… a lot of footage to cram into the _Report_. YouTube worked, sure, but not everyone could access that…

"He makes them comfortable," he whispered to himself. _Comfortable_ ; that reminded him of the planned evening. 'Relaxed, off camera' had been Sophia's words, while Ernest had described it as 'party'. Both fitted, he wanted to believe, even when the meeting ends and everyone, including him, believed to be happy about the outcome.

"Strange to think that ten of these girls will be gone already," he added on to his thoughts. "They will only see the public once. Tomorrow, on father's birthday."

But that was why they decided to put the real one with meetings with the public later on—because less girls meant less security chaos, and Ernest claimed it to be a bit unnecessary to introduce girls who would leave the day after tomorrow to the public. Xander agreed, hence the timeline moving.

"The party tonight. Lunch and the ball tomorrow. First elimination then. The girls begin planning. Meeting the public afterwards," he told himself while walking down the corridors to his office, to put away folders and prepare for the evening. He wanted to change. "For me, work," he added, reaching the office and dropping the folders. On to his own rooms, where he hurried to change. "And somewhere in between, dates." He should have put more thought into that before.

When he finished changing, he stepped out of his rooms and took a final breath. He was surprised to find Evan waiting.

"Busy?" his best friend asked.

"You could say that," Xander agreed, before noticing Irina next to him. "Good evening, Lady Irina."

"… So, Irina gets a Lady Irina, and I get nothing?" Evan teased. Irina, for only mere seconds, frowned. Enough time for him to notice, though.

"… Yes," Xander replied, too confused by Irina's reaction to answer properly. He made the mental note to check on her later, if it'd happen again.

It didn't, and he forgot.

"I wanted to apologise for leaving, earlier," Irina explained, but before she could continue, Xander waved her off.

"It's fine," he told her. "It's understandable. I'm sure I would have reacted in a similar manner." Thinking of seeing his mother again… Xander closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't want to think about _that_.

His sister or his mother.

He wanted both back.

He really had neither.

"You might want to speak to the Report team; Ernest was leading the recording of some material though," he added, to appear composed.

Irina nods. "Of course."

/ / /

 **Hallways of the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Illéa  
Sawyer Roth**

The day outfit that Sawyer had been given had, fortunately, been designed following the notes made a month ago; a marine blue jumpsuit. Clothes had ranged from a frill dress (Minnie herself had been wearing a white, frilly, geo-pattern-y dress, description by Sawyer's non-existent fashion knowledge) to the sloth costume reappearing.

By Minnie's words, "How has she not been eliminated yet?!"

 _To be fair_ , Sawyer thought, _the Selection officially was pretty much beginning today._

When asking about the evening, however, Sawyer learned that they were free to wear their own clothes. Both of them had chosen to do so, but while Sawyer chose jeans and a t-shirt, Minnie's outfit looked like the businessmen Sawyer rarely ever saw anymore in her hometown.

The closer they got, the more the differences in girls' choices became visible. Ranging from evening wear (they had eaten dinner already, with Sophia, Helena and Ernest joining—Xander, apparently, was working, Louis was also 'working', and no word had been spoken about the King or youngest princess), Sawyer's casual style to a pyjama and sloth costume.

"Do you think the clothes choice is another test?" Minnie wondered, echoing their discussion from the disco. The month of training had been a test, both believed.

"If so, I'm failing," Sawyer replied, noting to her T-shirt with the logo of the club she worked at. "Do you think the cameras are coming back?"

"No, they mentioned that. Alongside 'casual', but how casual can you be if you're in a palace?"

"They called it a party," Sawyer remembered too. "Do you think I can take a look at the music?"

"Why not? Unless they have an orchestra set up…"

"We aren't in the what—21st century anymore."

"You mean 19th century?" Minnie corrected, biting on her lip. They stopped outside. Was something up? Was it the PTSD? Remembering what had happened only so few days ago (or at least, it felt like yesterday), she opened her mouth. "Well, it doesn't matter. You can always ask, and from what I'm hearing, it sounds like relatively modern stuff."

Sawyer shrugged. "I'm not done with high school yet," she commented, making the note to check up on Minnie later. Especially if she continued to be off, or something happened.

It didn't, and she forgot.

They were neither the first nor last to arrive, including sloth girl, but to Sawyer's surprise, she noticed Sophia (more casual—she decided not to worry about clothes) with her younger brother together, talking to Veira Schreave and Harriet Tailor.

She remembered the promise to kick him if they met again. Probably not a good idea here.

"Good evening," Sophia hummed with her typical, bright and happy smile. "How are you two?"

"Well, thank you," Minnie replied. To Louis, she added, "I didn't think you'd enjoy parties."

Louis froze, Sophia turned to him, surprised. "Huh?"

"Ernest," he pressed out instead. "If you don't mind me… I'll… see… how… Leila is doing, I haven't had the chance to speak to her yet."

And gone he was.

Sophia sighed, moving briefly, but she stopped; Sawyer soon figured out why—Xander approached them, almost looking tired. Just almost though.

"What was that?" he asked, but Sawyer wasn't sure if he genuinely cared. His voice was too empty for that, but maybe it was fatigue. He probably didn't feel much better than some of the people around, it was late, and unlike them (who had spent the afternoon in a lesson that half the class did not listen to), he probably had been working.

"Louis," Sophia, very helpfully, replied. "Something with Ernest and parties. I'll look into it later. I don't want to mess up the evening. We haven't had that many people around in a while—not for a happy occasion."

Minnie tilted her head. "What are the thirty-five guest rooms used for normally, then?"

"Mostly, nothing," Xander replied. "Gregory Illéa was good at many things. Figuring out what was too much? Not so much."

"How was your two's afternoon?" Sophia asked, with a sweet smile. "I would have loved to come, but unfortunately, I was occupied with foreign diplomacy."

"Is there non-foreign diplomacy?" Sawyer asked.

Sophia shrugged. "Dunno. Just sounds better."

Since she was already talking to them, Sawyer decided to give her music-thing a shot. "Do you mind if I take a look at the music? I've worked as a DJ before, and—"

"Sure," Sophia smiled. "It's literally just a Spotify playlist running; feel free to play around with it. Ernest knows more about it; just ask him if he's around."

"Awesome, thank you," Sawyer smiled.

"Well, I'll check on the other girls. Have fun!" With that, Sophia left the two alone with the Crown Prince. Alright—that wasn't surprising. This was the Selection after all. Even if it didn't feel that much like it was. More like the training month, with some videoing and a brief _Report_ and their names…

Even when they had spoken to their families, most excited and happy (Sawyer was, at least), it hadn't felt real yet. They had met the princes, Sophia (well, most hadn't met Louis, nobody had met Victoria or the King, but she didn't expect that), and the Queen Mother, but the feeling of 'It's real'? That wasn't there.

"How did the Louis-and-parties-thing come to be?" Xander asked, with risen eyebrows.

"We were at a club the other night and met him there."

"Louis."

Minnie nodded. "Yep. The Goldfinger, it was called. Nice club, to be fair."

"Ernest likes it," Xander admitted, "but what did Louis do there?"

"Drink soda, apparently?" Sawyer shrugged. "We didn't see much of him; we mainly were there to relax. Lessons can be stressing on long-term."

"It's nice to hang out after work, yes," Xander agreed. So, he did the same? If so, evidently in a quieter manner than Ernest—although, when was the last time she had seen him in the newspaper because of that?

"Oh, that was also the night when I started with the 'it's the Selection' thing!" Minnie remembered. "I never came back to that."

Was she saying that because she genuinely forgot? Because Sawyer was fairly sure it had been mentioned when she called her family after the _Report_. Maybe it was to score points with Xander; Sawyer couldn't judge her for that.

If it was, it didn't have much of an effect. Xander smiled, and excused himself politely—Sawyer barely even heard that anymore. With all the staff doing it all the time, she barely paid attention to pleasantries anymore.

Weird times.

/ / /

 **Designated Room For The Party in the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Blair Willow**

People were getting drunk.

Blair had, even if she didn't want to, lost track of the time. Or the amount she had drunken, but she was fairly sure that she was barely even tipsy. At some point, she was fairly sure, someone had almost managed to convince a (equally tipsy) Xander to take off his clothes, but nothing had ultimately happened.

A bit of a disappointment, to be honest.

What worried her, however, was the lack she had seen of Nereida. God knew how she behaved drunk—what if she told someone about her circumstances from home? Of Benjamin? What if someone heard about that?

To be frank, she didn't care about Nereida's (fishy) Oscar enough to worry. She did care about her own boyfriend though, and being arrested for high treason or some stuff. Therefore, unfortunately, she decided to end her conversation with Sloth-Girl on why she was wearing the costume before she even had gotten a response—she had seen the ballerina walking by.

Nereida Statten was sitting with a bunch of other people. Sawyer Roth, Minnie Whitefield, Zarah Baine, Ami Kennedy, Kate Blanchard (how was she still conscious?!), Leila Sinclair (who looked rather out of place) and Alex Valentino, plus Prince Ernest and a brunette named Tori, an apparent friend of the royals. Lots of people, in summary.

There were more friends of them (primarily Xander's, she had come to assume—Sophia stayed away from them), but Tori was the only one to not hang around one bunch of people. Evan Cavanah stayed with his sister, yes, but otherwise? Just a bunch of friends and a Crown Prince who didn't want to leave them but lowkey had to.

Weird times.

"Mind if I join?" she asked, concerned.

"Sure," Ernest replied. "We're playing Never Have I Ever, but cooler. Spin the bottle, whoever it gets poses the question. Everyone who has done it takes a shot. Everything said at the table stays at the table; nobody discusses it outside, even if it's illegal."

"Totally not related to sex, no," Zarah joked. "Come sit down; it's Nerry's turn."

The bottle indeed pointed to her. Welp. "Never have I ever…" She eyed the prince, and smiled. "Complained about flying in a private jet."

Ernest glared back—a moment of tension—before laughing. "That was _aimed_ at me!"

"Well," Nereida smiled innocently, "have you?"

He took the shot, but so did Leila and Alex. Nereida spinned the bottle—Zarah.

"Okay—the rich kids don't like private jets, I get it. Never have I ever not played strip poker."

"Are negatives like that allowed?" Blair frowned; that applied to her.

"Yup. Everything's a go," Ernest laughed, leaning back. He had… and so did Zarah, Minnie, Sawyer, Alex and—Nereida? What?

Blair took a shot—ugh, not her taste—and glared at her friend. "How have you not not ever played that?"

Nereida shrugged. "With friends? At home, of course."

Besides Blair, Leila and Tori took a shot each. Kate followed, claiming she had never even played poker, and Ami taking one too. "We need to play it at some point," Kate insisted; the words were barely even recognisable anymore.

"How many did you have?" Blair frowned.

"Two," Zarah laughed.

Tori shrugged. "Let her be; she's a kid."

"I'm not a kid!" Kate giggled.

"We might want to exclude her from the game…" Sawyer noted concerned.

"It's fine—" Ernest began.

"Yeah, I agree," Nereida nodded. "She looks like she needs sleep, water and a pill for a headache."

Ernest waved to one of the present servants, asking for exactly that to happen. Blair looked to them. "Did I miss anything good with her?"

"Not really, unless you count getting drunk by smelling alcohol," Zarah chuckled. She spinned the bottle—Blair's turn.

"Ugh… Never have I ever… Um… drowned?"

"Fairly sure everyone here—" Nereida started laughing. "Screw that," she hummed. "I've never, but…" She was at least tipsy, Blair decided.

Meanwhile, Ernest took a shot. "Gonna count almost for this."

"What?" Tori laughed out. "You gotta tell now!"

"Went onto the ocean with someone, in a little boat. Got a bit lost. Fell out of the boat. Insisted I was drowning because I was a bit drunk—I was on a sand bank." Nereida continued laughing. Had she heard of that? "I still get teased."

"Did you know that?" Minnie asked Nereida.

"Uh," she blushed. "Yeah. Kinda? He, uh, told me. Um…"

"We talked earlier today, because I stayed in Bonita for quite a while, and I was curious if Nereida knew the place where I was. It came up."

"Ah," she nodded. "Turn the bottle, Blair."

Sawyer. "I never had a fake ID."

Another drink for Ernest, who immediately went for it. "In my defence, it was for my safety, not to get into a bar. Anyone else?"

Tori went for it too. "Among other things, a bar, yeah."

"Wait, is Tori your surname or given name?" Ami asked. "You introduced yourself as Tori that one time, but I assumed it was your surname, yet everyone calls you Tori?"

"The name's Victoria Belasko. There's already a Victoria around, so I go by Tori. It's a nickname." Nods, and Blair noticed Ernest biting on his lip. Not a good topic for them, she assumed.

Nobody else took a drink—be it because they wanted to avoid the legality issues or because they didn't. Ernest, however, turned around before Sawyer could turn the bottle. "Hey, Xander, wanna join us?"

Tori laughed out, again. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," Ernest grinned back. "It's fun! I promise!"

A back-and-forth between the brothers ensued (with Tori joining soon), but Blair prioritised Nereida. With everyone's attention on the princes, she had a shot. "Hey, Nereida? How much alcohol can you take? Because of… you-know-what, I'd be careful and all, because… you know."

Nereida did not. "What do you mean?"

"Be careful with how much you drink. If you drink too much, you might talk about things you don't want others to know…"

"I've got pretty high tolerance?" She shrugged. "It'll be fine!" Nereida smiled.

Blair doubted that, but before she could do anything more, Xander joined them. The bottle turned, landing on Ernest. "Oh-oh! This'll solve the question for once and all time! I'm not a virgin."

"That's not news," Xander pointed out.

"But it's tea," Alex laughed, eying the others. Blair wasn't, and she wasn't going to take the first shot, at least. Sure, it had been illegal until recently, but the last punishment for that, outside babies being born from it, had been in what? Spencer Illéa's time?

No way she was going to give in first.

Leila was the first, drinking her shot. No questions asked; she came from a high-profile family, so Blair almost expected it. Minnie followed. "I like parties," she claimed, "but I've never had time for boyfriends."

No one else did.

Including, most notably, Xander.

Blair rose an eyebrow. "I agree, tea," she slipped before thinking about it.

Another spin—this time, Xander. Ernest chuckled already, grinning at his older, and visibly uncomfortable brother. "Why did I agree to this again?" he muttered under his breath.

"Never have I ever cooked before." Tori's suggestion was accompanied by a friendly punch.

"But… I've cooked before?"

"So… never have I not ever cooked before?" Blair tried to comprehend.

Xander, equally confused by the English language, nodded. "I would assume that that is the outcome, yes."

Silence. Blair had cooked before—absolutely. However, slowly, Alex began eyeing everyone. "… Does going to McDonalds count?"

"Nope," Ernest replied. "Wait—does baking count?"

"Nope," Tori echoed, grinning.

He frowned. "Helping?"

"Then you'd need to debate how much the cooking has to be, so no. It's cooking, on your own and alone."

Ernest cringed, then shrugged. "Well, I don't mind drinking, so, here I go."

Alex followed. So did Zarah.

"Does… heating up ramen count?" Ami asked, tilting her head.

"Nope—wait. Yes. Absolutely! Yes! Of course! Totally!"

"You're too invested into the game. You can't even lose, Tori," Blair, before thinking, blurted out.

Ami and Tori were the last to take a shot, and Xander spun the bottle. Nereida. Welp. Blair eyed her. _Please don't mess this up. I don't want to die._

"Alright…" Nereida glared at the bottle. She leaned back, comfortable and happily, almost into Ernest. _You already have a boyfriend_ , Blair thought. "Never have I ever…"

She didn't mess up, but that was probably because very soon, the game fell apart when Sawyer (and Minnie) left to check the music system. Blair sighed in relief, getting one confused glare from her friend.

/ / /

 **Still the party room, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Prince Louis of Illéa**

To be fair, everyone seemed to be having a good time. Sawyer Roth, the absolutely, utterly (not) polite Lady of Fennley, was in charge of the music. Some people were dancing. Some people were drunk. Some people were doing both. He was fairly sure to have heard someone—Tori? Probably—daring Xander to take off his clothes.

It hadn't worked.

Louis wasn't sure if that was good or bad. It would give him a reason to escape. It would also give him a reason to worry about what anyone would think about what was actually going on in the Selection, and whenever Ernest wasn't the only playboy in the family, which would lead to the press asking questions about him again and they would—

"Veira!" Louis called out, relieved when the saw the blonde. "Good evening, I haven't seen— What are you doing?"

"Dancing!" From the looks of it, she was, indeed. Her heels were gone, too.

"Please, can you—I need your help."

"No, I want to sleep…"

"But you're dancing…?"

"Right…" Veira stopped, still bopping to the rhythm. Others ignored them. Good. Louis didn't want them to pay attention to them. "Hello!" she hummed, overly happily. Only so long until she'd collapse down, Louis assumed.

"So… uh… I was wondering; we haven't really had the chance to catch up outside that one time, and uh, I kind of need an excuse to leave—do you want to go catch up a bit? I'm sure you could use that as excuse to go to bed early?" He gave her a half-smile.

"… Alright," she replied with an innocent, tipsy smile. The sleep part convinced her, he guessed. "Lemme just… grab… my heels… where are they?"

Louis, turning around himself, glimpsed a pair of white heels. "These there?"

Veira nodded and skipped to them. "These are mine…" she hummed. "I took them off so I don't break my ankle, you know. I did that once. Not fun, no." She shook her head.

Louis nodded, vaguely. "Yes, I can think of that. Why don't we sit down somewhere? What about my drawing room?"

"Sure," Veira hummed, and followed him.

Louis' drawing room was a bit further away than other places they could have gone, but if they would go there then other people might come by, and the Selected weren't meant to be present on the third floor at all. That was where their dad and Vic hid too.

It was also full of books, comics and other things.

Veira dropped, now sleepy, onto the sofa, and grabbed a pillow. She smiled drowsily. "So, what have you been up to?"

"Numbers and economics," Louis admitted, sitting down as well. "Just boring work, really, ever since I came with, with expectations like the _Report_ and grandmother's birthday. Too bad that you had the lessons; it was nice."

"I think I slept…"

"Huh?"

"The lessons are boring, so I sleep a lot…"

"Of course…" Louis smiled, half-hearted. Sometimes, he worried about Veira and her sleeping. She slept a lot… a bit too much.

"I have never seen you around, in Waverly… Why didn't you come to my birthday party?"

"Stuck in the middle of nowhere, on a farm faking to be a Seven."

Veira tilted her head. "What? You, on a farm?"

Louis huffed. "Yup. Exactly. Jonathan's idea was that me and Ernest would go somewhere else, without telling anyone, because both of us 'caused enough trouble'. I wouldn't have minded living undercover as a middle class Three, like Ernest did. He put me onto a farm of a family of his wife's childhood friend. For two and a half year, I got to play a seven."

Veira cringed. "That's ridiculous."

"I'm expecting him to bring that up again—I expect that he's got some form of plans."

"Plans?" Veira tilted her head again, this time to the other side. She leaned back and pulled her legs up.

"Yes. Some image improvement…" Louis sighed. "I'd hope it'll work, but I doubt it. Plus, all the _Report_ airtime is already squeezed with the Selection. You know, we need to fit in government news, but the _Report_ footage from today will fill all the day. We can't make it longer; the _Report_ time sometimes takes away time people need for work, but Ernest refuses to cut down the footage, because of… I don't even know. He's proud of it, I guess, but there's more important information to get through."

"You could put the _Report_ on another day? The Selection part, I mean?"

"People still need the time to work, though. We can't just make it a thing that everyone gets a free hour paid every week."

"Hmm… That's difficult…"

"I know, and it's been on my mind the whole day, so I didn't pay a lot of attention in one of the meetings I was present, and—"

"You need to take some time off. Sleep," she hummed.

"Hmm…" Louis looked down. "I wish I could sleep as much as you do, to be honest."

"It's really easy," Veira, with a tipsy smile, insisted. "You just lay down," As she spoke, she put her head onto the pillow, "and then you close your eyes and…" She drifted off.

"So easy, huh?" Louis laughed. He rose, however, and nudged Veira. "You probably want to fall asleep in your own room."

"Hmhmmm?"

"Come on, Veira, wake up. You just need to walk down one flight of stairs."

"But I wanna sleep…"

"In your room, okay?"

Veira yawned lady-like, and moved up. "Okay… Are you coming with me?"

"I'll walk you down, yes," Louis agreed, took her hand, and guided her out of the doors, down the stairs and to her room, where he nodded towards the maid waiting for her. "She's quite sleepy, and probably doesn't deal well with the alcohol either," he warned them.

By no means did he overlook the distance in the maid's eyes. He knew—he was used to the staff disliking him, even when they couldn't show it without risking being fired. He sighed, hoping that they wouldn't treat Veira the same way.

She didn't deserve it.

Nobody did.

/ / /

 **Victoria's bedroom in the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Victoria of Illéa**

Victoria was pretty sure she had screamed.

As in, a guard busted into her bedroom, was tackled down by pillows, and then managed to ask "What happened, Your Royal Highness?" in a confused voice. The walls were too thick to have alarmed him based on movement.

One of the flaws Victoria knew.

If someone managed to silence her before she could alert someone, and incapacitate her of any form of movement, then they could do as they pleased provided that the thick walls wouldn't let through any sound and they could do whatever they wanted to her, and the windows were always there and they could come in through them by climbing easily and—

"Your Royal Highness? Ma'am? Are you—Shall I call Miss Belasko, or the Crown Prince?"

Belasko? Crown Prince? What? Who—right.

Tori.

Xanxan.

Did she want Xanxan? After not telling her about the invasion of strangers that Tori openly called a danger, meaning _they_ could come in and they could go again, hurt her, frighten her, do this all again and there wouldn't be any sunlight and no warmth; only cold and wet stone and scary echoes and shadows and no light and—

"Ma'am? Your Royal Highness?"

Who was that—right. Her. That stranger—what was his name again?—was talking to her. _"Go away_!" she wanted to scream, but the sounds stayed stuck in her throat—stuck in her throat like the air she wanted to breathe.

"I'm not paid enough for this…"

Paid? There was something with pay—with money. Support. Help. Aid. Allies. Deals. Information. _William_.

Victoria cried out. Not him, not the image of— _no_. Run, run like Tori had said—run because "that's the only thing you can do now, Vicky". Run, and so, Victoria did run. She threw the large white blanket at the poor guard whose partner was now coming in, pushing both aside surprised.

She never understood how she did that, not now and not then.

" _Run_ ," with her bare feet on the cold marble that did not feel the same as it had back then, and it wasn't grey and dirty, but white and clean, she thought. " _Run and find Xanxan. He, or his friends, they will be here, I promise._ "

At the stairs, hearing chatter and loud sounds—not the shots and calls and explosions and dust falling down—she stopped. " _Xanxan will be here_ ," she remembered Tori promising. " _But so will his friends._ "

Was that the chattering?

"Your Highness!" the guard, what was his name again, called. It wasn't Evan. Evan was—difficult enough. Vicky looked over her shoulder, recognising them. Run? Stay? Jump down the stairs? So often, that had been a valid choice. One she had never been able to take, but valid.

" _We'll meet; I will find you_ ," Tori had told her in the chaos. " _Only trust your brother, Xander, only trust him._ " That had been the last thing; only trust Xander. Not anyone else, not the friends—especially not the friends! " _We might not meet again_ ," she had added, and gone into the dust.

But the hideout—the meeting place—it was away, far away, and she didn't know how to get there, and there was no way to get there, so what could she do besides running and looking to find Xanxan or Tori or anyone?

Victoria chose to run down the marble stairs, skipping many and nearly tumbling down another stairs. Her pursuers followed.

There was that one room, loud and full of people, she believed, that caught her attention on the second floor. The door was open, she noted, and with the guards calling again, this was the way. People meant possible hiding? The chaos, back then, she had slipped through the crowd and nobody had found her, even when she had seen them; the crowd had been her safety.

Plus, the other doors were always closed. Victoria remembered Andrew 'assuring' her.

She slipped through the door, into the room with the loud sounds—bizarre and nothing she liked. William had listened to this a lot, she believed. He called it music; by no means Victoria viewed it as equal to what Helena had taught her on the violin. There were people—many people—with some wearing ridiculous little clothing.

Some were giggling, and others were drinking or walking or talking or—" _focus, Vic_."

Victoria slipped the door close, hoping that her pursuers hadn't caught her and—there was Tori, talking to a bunch of other people, and—she took a deep breathe. The pursuers—no, guards, protectors, allies—would find her.

"Are you alright?" one of the strangers asked. She stood with another girl, one a redhead while her friend was a brunette. " _Not as dark hair as Tori_ ," Victoria thought.

"Alright…" Victoria repeated. "I'm here, at home, right?"

"Sure?" she laughed, giggling. Like Andrew, but not as bad.

"Who are you?" Victoria dared to ask.

"Anastasia," the redhead introduced herself with a smile. "Nice to meet you. This is Jaira."

Home. Safe. Tori is there. Xanxan was around too, surely. The pursuers weren't pursuers; they were guards, like Evan, except that they were the guards that usually were around when Tori was there too, but she wasn't now, and that wasn't good and—

"Are you alright?" Jaira added on. "What's your name? Do you work here?" She looked to Anastasia. "Should we tell someone? She looks—freaked out." Jaira hesitated. The way she glanced at her friend—they were discussing things without words. What? Why?

Was she safe or not, now? " _This doesn't make sense!_ "

"Hello?" Anastasia asked. "She looks shocked," she agreed. "Can you get someone, Jaira?"

"Who? Staff? Guards? She has to be here for a reason—how else would a—what, maybe eighteen years old?—girl like her get into the _Illéa_ _Palace_ , out of all places."

"She looks frightened," Anastasia claimed.

Of course she was! These strangers—who were they? What were they doing here? Where was Xanxan? Tori? Again, the sounds stayed stuck in Victoria's throat. Not a single sound came out. Not a single bit of air.

Tori—she wasn't with her. But they'd meet. They'd meet. She promised.

Xanxan—he'd be here. He'd come. He'd save her. She promised.

Even Evan, he would be alright. He was alright. Tori said so. She promised.

Or dad, or mum, or Sophy, Loulou, Ernie. Lucie. Uncle Maxie, Louise—anyone. Not these strangers, not these people that barely even resembled who they claimed to be, not—the door behind Victoria opened.

"Oh, I—I'm sorry?" the pursuer—slash—guard—slash—whoever—he—was said. "I—uh—am looking for someone, mi'lady…"

The brunette—Jaira?—nodded quickly. "Do you happen to know who—?" she gestured to her. To Victoria.

"Oh, yeah, uh, we were looking—ma'am? Are you alright? Why are you not moving?"

"Is she even breathing?"

"She should—she's conscious," Jaira began.

"She doesn't look alright though," Anastasia added on. "Hey, kiddo? Are you—"

 _Enough._

Victoria did the only thing she could. _Run._

She could barely hear the guard speaking. "Uh, don't worry, we'll take care of it. Enjoy the evening, Lady—"

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **Next Chapter:** _»Hill Castle has been invaded«_

 **(Update a bit earlier cuz I have a bunch of exams tmrw, a concert and probably will forget otherwise smh)**

 **That cameo of NakedDrunk!Xander is the closest you can get, sorry. I can't bring myself to do more, at least right now.** **And yes, you can thank Pocket for the Bachelor references. Again. Now that I'm writing this AN, I think we're almost done.**

 **Victoria's POVs are a nightmare to write, but I hope it's confusing enough. :) It's fairly difficult to write her chaotic thoughts and make sure that the incoherency in her memories is still sense-making for someone who knows the truth; I hope I did it well enough and if you go back once you know the whole story, and go back, you understand** **… if you're confused, you're doing it right.**


	25. Chapter 24

**Fallout**

 _In the last party, a more lose evening followed stiff introductions between Xander and the Selected, a meeting and differences between Louis and Ernest, brief meetings and a Never Have I Ever game, the first day of the girls has ended. The whole event was briefly met with a disassociating, panicking Victoria and a few other conversations._

 **Chapter 24**

» _Hill Castle has been invaded_ «

 **Definitely not the room she was meant to be in, but in the Illéa Palace  
Nereida Statten**

 _This is home_ , Nereida thought, even though she missed the smell of the ocean and the sound of her sister complaining about waking up. Where was the sound of her mother making food, of her father preparing for the day?

The only thing she could hear was some vague moving, but that was too dull to count.

Nereida blinked; the curtains had been pulled open already, and only thin, translucent white fabric covered the large window to her left. She pulled the white sheets closer—it wasn't cold, they were just comfy—and blinked again. Man, the light was difficult to get used to.

She wasn't in Hill Castle either. The sheets there had a flower pattern, she believed. One with orange roses, which had looked off enough. Some had been lavender too, she remembered. These were just white, nothing else. How boring.

"This is the Illéa Palace, isn't it?" she asked herself. They had only been here for a day, but with the month of Hill Castle, there wasn't much difference. At least, she didn't feel like there was much of a difference.

"Morning, Tiny," Ernest commented from the door frame. He looked awake.

Nereida smiled. "Good morning!" she hummed.

"You slept for ages," Ernest—dressed—commented. "I started work—how do you sleep so much?"

Remembering last night, Nereida grinned sheepishly. "I had a nice plushie."

"I'm not a plushie," Ernest complained. "Oh, and, by the way, your maid's looking for you. I'm fairly sure she's panicking by now."

"What?" Too much information at once. Especially when Nereida was inclined to follow Veira's example and sleep. This bed was _comfy_. And that was something to say, considering Nereida's month of castle experience.

"Fairly sure the whole of the staff got a lecture on that this time."

"… That isn't what I meant. What's the time?"

Ernest glanced at his watch. "Nine o'clock, April first. There's a ball this evening, and you probably want be ready for that."

"Do I?"

"You get to wear nice dresses? Sophy loves getting them."

"Oooh! Right! We tried them on the other day! I remember."

"Yeah, Sophy has been complaining about that at lunch. Apparently, she can't wear what she planned to, because some girl has something similar, and that's a no-go. What did you end up with?"

"It's a pastel blue-purple bateau ball gown with—" Ernest already looked puzzled.

"Do you… like... have a photo?"

"Uh, no?"

"You put on fancy dresses and don't take photos? Why does Sophy always put photos on snapchat then?"

Nereida shrugged. "Do you remember the Swan Lake ballet? The skirt looks like the one I wore, but with roses and in purple-blue and with a bateau cut."

"… I'll see this evening."

"Sure!" Nereida smiled. "Oh, and, if it's April first, then everyone's coming for today, aren't they?"

He huffed. "So, Sophy hasn't gotten around to that?"

"Hm?"

"She was meant to organise that, yes, but she forgot, so no, the invitations of the Selected did not go out, and they won't come.

Oh.

 _Too bad_ , Nereida thought. _Don't be disappointed. The Selection is already difficult enough to organise._

"Now I need to explain why your family's here, but there are enough people invited that I hope nobody will notice. Maybe Helena will help me. She might be able to pull off knowing your father…"

"So, they're coming?!" Nereida called out, eyes wide.

"They'll arrive a bit before brunch. You probably shouldn't skip it, though. If you hurry and leave my bed, you probably can catch them before. They're my guests for the afternoon—even though I have, like, two meetings to deal with… Yeah, I did not plan this through. Nor did Sophy, though," he adds. "I'm sure they'll cope. Sirena would be skipping school either way."

The thought of her younger sister made Nereida laugh. "Yes, she would."

"You should go, or your maid's gonna kill you."

"Hmhm," Nereida yawned. "Where?"

"To your room?" Ernest suggested. "I need to be at yet another meeting in four minutes ago, but I'll try to be at brunch."

"You're late," Nereida realised.

"Well, I tend to be."

She laughed. "I love you."

"I love you too, Tiny; that's kind of why we're dating." He smiled at her one last time, before disappearing from the door frame.

"Bye," Nereida added on, knowing that he missed it. She didn't like him to be that busy. Not at all.

/ / /

About five minutes and an undetermined amount of staying-in-bed-because-its-comfy later, Nereida finally remembered which was her room, and opened the door, facing the maid that spoke to one of the guards.

"Oh, there she is," she spoke, sounding like Umbridge.

"Morning!" Nereida smiled, deciding to kill her with kindness. Besides, she was sure that Ernest could do something if she continued to pull an Umbridge. One of them was already enough.

"Where have you been, Lady Statten?"

"Oh, uh, I slept in another room."

"Milady, you are aware of the fact that you are not allowed to have any intimate relationships, except with His Royal Highness?"

Yeah, but Ernest seemed to think it was fine, so… Besides, nobody cared about the don't-sleep-with-anyone-before-marriage law, so what was this in comparison?

"Yeah," she hummed, "I do."

"Then, I am to assume that was not the case?"

 _I mean, it was, but…_

"You can ask Prince Ernest!" she added on.

The guard facepalmed, muttering something. "I'll deal with it," he almost hissed.

Fortunately, though, that left her with a salty, eyeing maid who muttered something about preparing a bath and hungover Selected, and left her alone, with nothing really to do, because apparently, she wasn't allowed to get ready by herself.

Rich kid problems.

Her phone beeped five minutes of being half-asleep later.

 **Ernest:** Ok, so, now, the story is: You fell asleep in some random room, after being tired and lost; I found you this morning, and no, you did not sleep with anyone. If anyone asks, you don't remember which room either. I'll get out of the meeting in half an hour (thank God) but your family will be in the Orange Sitting Room (ask a guard to show you the way if you need to); I'll see you then. Please keep to the story, or grandpa's gonna kill me. Love you

Well, she could go with that. A typical Ernest-y move though; making up stories and excuses on the spot. She smiled, before dropping her phone because the Umbridge-like maid returned, and told her (very salty, maybe it was the bath salt) that the bath was prepared. She had used the rose-scent bath salt, so that probably wasn't the reason.

A bath, a changing, and a knock at the door later, Blair leaned in the door frame (to be honest, not as stylish as Ernest had), and rose her eyebrow. "So, where did you disappear to yesterday?" she asked.

"Oh, hello!" Nereida hummed first, before responding. "Met with my boyfriend—"

" _Nereida_." Blair glared. Why? Did she have something in her face? Were her clothes making look her fat? She was wearing one of the pretty ocean blue day dresses of the Selection—wasn't this meant to make her look _good_?

"Yeah? That's my name," she pressed out.

" _How_. Are. You. Not. Questioning. Someone. Who. Breaks. Into. The. Palace." Blair shook her head while walking up and down in front of her. "I'm sorry, but, like—he broke into Hill Castle, and now this, and you're just standing there, nodding? That's _illegal_ , by the way!"

"… He lives here? I don't think you can break into your own house…"

"… So, he works here. Have you not heard the story of the Five in King Henry's Selection?"

He did work here, yes, but he also lives her. "And he lives here."

"Nereida, only the royal family lives here."

"Yeah, that's why."

"… What?"

"Oscar's actual name's Ernest," she smiled. "He's a prince!" And a cute theatre nerd. And that guy who had visited all clubs in her home town before her, even though she lived there all her life. After a week of being around.

And again, Blair just glared. "And… you know… you aren't questioning that—not at all?"

"What? That Oscar's—"

"Besides you not recognising a _prince_ , out of all people—that he didn't tell you before?!"

"Well," Nereida began, "our television was broken for years, and we don't really watch the—"

"Not. A. Valid. Excuse."

"But—"

"Okay, Nereida, listen—" Blair continued.

"Lady Statten," the footman began, "apologies for the interruption, but you have been asked to come to the Orange Sitting Room."

"Yay!" Nereida called out, bluntly ignoring Blair.

She did not like that. "Nereida? What are you doing? I'm trying to tell you that something's off—"

"Yeah, yeah, later—my family arrived!" she announced. "Let's go and see them!"

"What?"

Blair barely got a chance to ask where; Nereida dashed off, already. Sure, she had been super busy with all that was going on for the past month that she hadn't even gotten around to sending a letter, but a chance to see everyone again?

She was taking it. In an instant.

"Mum! Dad! Sirena!" she called out, ignoring the poor footman opening the door, and threw herself into her mother's arms. Blair called her name from the distance; apparently, she didn't know how to run in heels.

"Hello, dear," her father greeted her. Cue lots of hugs, embraces, long-time-no-sees and Blair, eventually arriving.

"I thought we could only invite one person…?" Blair begun, asking before waving to the three other Stattens besides Nereida. "Good morning. I'm Blair."

"It's nice to meet you," Nereida's father, Carson Statten, spoke. "Do you mind if I ask what you are referring too? One person?"

"We were told that we could invite one relative or similar to today," Blair explained.

"Oh, yeah, and—" Nereida begun.

"—and Sophy messed up by forgetting to take care of that. Which is also why I am here; she apparently needs to take care of some dressing issue or so. I miss not having a sister around by the way," Ernest finished. "Hello."

Blair turned around swiftly; surprise written on her face. Did she not expect Ernest to show up here? "Good morning, your Highness," she quickly said, with a curtsy. None of the Stattens moved; they had seen him around often enough not to bother.

Or at least that was what Nereida guessed. It didn't really matter, did it?

"Hi Blair. Hope that's your name. Too many people," Ernest muttered aside.

"She's the one with the boyfriend; I told you about her," Nereida chirped.

Blair shrieked. "Nereida! You can't just say that; it's—"

"I'm the last one to care about the rules of the Selection, believe me. I'm many things, but not a hypocrite. I'm only around this all because of Tiny here," he smiled at her. "How's work, Carson?"

"Perfectly fine, yes, although a heads-up to this all a bit earlier would have been nice."

"I know," Ernest cringed. "Same, really. But the security around here has been a nightmare."

"Oh, oh, wait!" Nereida called out. "I need to explain—Oscar's real name is—"

"Ernest Illéa," Sirena, her little sister, finished. "Nerry, I'm not stupid. Unlike you."

"I'm not stupid!"

"You didn't realise your boyfriend was a prince for ages."

"But—did you know?!"

"Yes…? I mean, I read magazines and all…" Her mother and father nodded as well.

"To be fair," Ernest interrupted, "we did have a conversation about saying-no-word about this, because safety and all."

"But how has she not realised?!" That, by the way, was Blair, in agreement with Sirena.

"Well, you remember the television and—"

/ / /

 **Rose Garden of Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

Sophia cancelling the meeting was, to be absolutely honest, a blessing.

Not because it meant that he'd need to have it tomorrow morning which would impact his whole schedule (and he still had to sit down and figure out about _dates…_ ), but because it meant that he now had a reason to go join the Selected for brunch (and, uh, which in return might or might not give him a reason to avoid the Selection further. There were reports to read, obviously) , which was why he was sitting in the Rose Garden, having an absolutely delightful conversation with Blair Willow on her work as a lifeguard. To be absolutely honest, he forgot what they had discussed in their previous meeting.

That was, until Evan politely interrupted them, because "someone would like to speak to you, immediately." The message that gave him three hints—someone meant that Evan didn't want to speak out the name among the Selected, immediately meant that it was either important or somebody who could afford asking for the prince's presence immediately, and Evan himself talking to him, not a footman or even butler, meant it was something personal.

"Please excuse me for a moment," he told the girls he currently sat with. Katheryn was pleasant company because she talked like a waterfall and you really just had to listen, but he was glad that Blair had taken over. Euphrosyne seemed quite glad too.

He followed his friend, stopping the instant they left the Rose garden's garden table and the chatter of thirty-five girls grew distant.

"What happened?" he inquired. "Please hurry; I only have time for brunch before I need to see the minister of education on—"

"It's Vic," Evan interrupted him. "She's waiting inside—she refused to go outside. I don't know what's up, but I think Sophy stopped by earlier, and she saw her, so I hope it's good…? Maybe she wants to meet the girls after all; Sophy and Ernest met them, so... Have they met Louis yet?"

"No, he's been hiding in the library," Xander replied aside, his mind already with his sister. He rushed ahead. "Vic?"

Victoria Illéa's hair was chaotic. Today had to be one of the days where Tori couldn't convince her to let the maids or Tori herself do her hair, he concluded. Her long hair reached her back by now; he understood why the hair cut was a discussion.

"Hey," he began, unsure why. Victoria didn't look happy—not that serene, quiet smile of that one time when she had picked up the violin again. She didn't cry either—not like in all those countless nights of nightmares. She looked, if even, disappointed.

He didn't even know she could do that anymore.

"Xander," she began, hesitant. She was trying—he could hear that—to sound strong, but her fist was trembling and her feet turned inside. Everything about her showed the fear. That was why she couldn't step outside. Not after the Siege.

"Yes?"

"What happened?" she pressed out, quick. "Yesterday, I mean," she added on stuttering.

Xander frowned. "Yesterday?" To be fair, his memories of the evening were too unclear for his own taste. "The girls arrived, so to say."

"I know _that_ ," Victoria insisted, almost condescending.

"What then? Did something happen? I'm sorry, Evan?"

Evan had waited at a polite distance, but now stepped closer. "From what I have gathered," he began, looking at the princess, "it appears that Her Royal Highness had a nightmare last night, leading to her running away from the positioned guards. It appears that she made her way to the Orange Sitting Room and our party, where she met Lady Anastasia Collins of Dakota and Lady Jaira Phillips of Whites, who spoke to her until the guards caught up."

"What was going on?!" Victoria was distraught.

"Well," Xander began, puzzled. "We… what can I say?" He turned to Evan. "We had a little party?"

"But why—why are you doing this?!"

"Because of the Selection, Vic, we talked about this."

"No, you didn't tell me about _this_!" She cried out. "Sophy is right."

"Sophia?" Xander repeated. "She appears to be quite in favour of the Selection…"

"No—I, I mean—" Victoria shuddered. Momentarily, her knees seemed to give in and Xander already stepped forward to catch her, but Victoria caught herself in time. Clenching a fist, she spoke, "Please excuse me." She walked off, fast but elegant, before rushing the instant she turned around the corner.

"Do you have…"

"Any idea? No," Evan shook his head. "I'll text Tori, but other than that, she still needs a therapist?"

"When she's ready herself…"

"You've been saying this for months."

The two turned around, with Xander certainly not intending on continue that discussion, and stepped back outside, to find Veira Schreave waiting for them. She curtsied politely, before apologising for 'sneaking up' on them.

"Did anything happen, Veira?" Xander asked the old family friend.

"Not exactly, no," Veira replied. "I intended to head inside for some shadow—did something happen? You look quite distraught."

"Vic. Something must have upset her, but we don't know what exactly. She refused to tell—or couldn't."

"Would you like me to speak to her?" Veira suggested. "I am happy to try—I remember, we used to get along so well, before… you know."

Before her father died defending Victoria, allowing her to be kidnapped, yes.

"I am not entirely sure if that'd help. She's not spoken to Ernest, Sophia or Louis since she came back, essentially—although it appears that she met Sophia. I'll see. Feel free to try but…"

"Don't get your hopes up, Lady Schreave," Evan added. He bowed. "Please excuse me, I should return to work. I'll update you on Her Royal Highness," he added to Xander.

"Thank you," Veira spoke, as soft as always. "How has your father been? My uncle has been quite concerned…"

"It's difficult, too," Xander admitted. "Although, since his breakdown, grandmother insists that it's gotten better, but she is concerned whenever he will be present today. It's mother's birthday too, after all…"

April first. He remembered the happy celebrations of the loving, doting parents he always had.

"Burnout is nothing I would wish to my worst enemies."

Xander didn't. "I wished them death," he muttered.

"Applicable."

"What about your mother?"

Veira shook her head. "Nothing either. Phineas has given up all his hopes, unfortunately…"

"I'm sorry to hear that." He wished he could be more helpful, but he wasn't Sophia. As much as he knew Veira as a childhood friend, almost six years of a difference had made quite the difference. "If there's anything we can do, then I'm happy to help you."

"Thank you," Veira smiled. "Have you seen Louis? I've tried to ask for him, but he appears to—"

"The library, try the library, but I can't promise you that he won't throw books at you."

Veira chuckled. "That sounds like him. I will try my best, thank you." She curtsied, again, before turning around and heading down the path. Another conversation finished, he happily realised.

Xander glanced at his watch before returning though. Ten minutes until he would need to leave the palace—was it even worth returning to the girls? Would it look weird if he just popped up to say 'bye'? Yes, it would be. It'd look inefficient and unprofessional.

If anyone asked, it was just a misunderstanding. Yes. Just a misunderstanding.

Therefore, he turned around to head up to his office to find the missing files and notes he needed, but he did not get that _far_. In the corridor leading to the grand staircase, Rowan Johansson and Leda Conner were standing, with two young children. Right—Lady Rowan's siblings, he remembered.

Well, a brief chat would _surely_ be possible.

"Good day, ladies," the Prince said, when the four noticed him. Leda and Rowan curtsied—Madame Umbridge had done a good job—while the two kids looked at them awkwardly. The girl mimicked the curtsy though.

"Good morning, Your Royal Highness," Leda replied instantly, polite and business-like. It was almost as if he already was at the meeting. Xander didn't mind.

"Oh, good morning—" Rowan begun, a bit clumsier. Difference in background, he decided to think.

"Hello! I'm Ann—" the girl interrupted.

"Those are my dear siblings," Rowan explained, pulling her closer. "Annabelle and Owen."

The older boy waved shily. "Hello, it's… uh… nice to meet you?" He was older, maybe seven or eight (Xander didn't remember the exact age), so he probably understood the Selection and what it entailed.

"It's nice to meet you too," Xander replied, wishing that once he'd be as good with children as his mother was. "How are you doing?"

"This place is incredible!" little Annabelle called out. "It's like—a fairy tale castle without towers!"

Oh, yeah. The Illéa Palace was the ideal of Gregory Illéa's ridiculous fantasies of wealth and status, but European fairy tale style? Surprisingly, he had not commissioned Castle Neuschwanstein Castle 2.0.

"It's… quite large, I agree," Xander chuckled, thinking of the unnecessarily large costs that running the palace ended up in. Sure, jobs, but money—unfortunately, his suggestion to rent out the rooms currently used by the Selected was met with a polite "Xander, darling, we cannot do that" of his mother. To be fair, she had given a fair point. Their security.

The thought made Xander freeze for a moment.

Mum.

" _I miss you, still_ ," he thought. It hurt even more to know that she would have made the same choice as Tori had. He wasn't sure if Vic would have.

"But there's someone missing—this castle obviously needs a prince!"

"Well," Xander begun, unsure what to say, "I think I am a prince…?" At least last time he checked he was.

"No! Everyone knows that princes wear crowns!"

What?

"Alright…?"

Meanwhile, Leda deserved an Oscar for holding a polite neutral expression, Rowan appeared to panic a bit and Owen was hiding behind Rowan chuckling. What a family—although Leda looked a little bit out of place. "Please forgive her—she doesn't know better and—" Rowan panicked.

"It's fine, it's fine," Xander replied. "Children, I guess?"

Leda's expression remained neutral. "Their innocence—there's nothing purer, isn't there?" she commented. Now he cacouldn hear the uncomfortableness in her as well at least. "Well, Rowan, shall we join the others? I'm curious about rumours I heard."

Rumours?

He'd learn of that later. For now, he had a meeting to attend, and thoughts to lose.

/ / /

 **Palace Library, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Veira Schreave**

The palace library was old, and it smelled as such.

Veira, being the type not to read books, felt intimidated by the large walls of books reaching the ceiling of the room. The scent of dust was foreign to her. Very much foreign and strange. The library was quiet and silent.

Who even used it, she wondered?

Besides, Louis, of course.

"Hello?" she said, careful not to disturb the silence and the dancing dusk. "Is anyone here?" Her finger tips slid over the old book covers.

 _This wasn't the first time Veira stepped into this library. It wasn't the second or third either; she had been here countless times. She remembered the last time she had been here; days before Adrian Illéa had declared the fight against the rebels a war._

 _She had met her father, a captain of the royal guard, before joining her mother and aunt in visiting the Queen and Princess Sophia, one of her closest friends, at the Illéa Palace. Almost, she had gone to see Victoria and Lucia instead. Only looking back, she thought about how close she had been to joining her father, Lucia and Victoria. How close she had been to death._

 _"Louis?" she spoke, careful not to disturb little Shakespeare, an old grey cat living in the library. Today, Shakespeare was lying on Louis' lap, in front of the fire, while he sat there, reading._

"Louis?" she spoke, having found the prince at the same fire, without the cat. "Where's little Shakespeare?"

 _"Lady Veira," the younger Louis spoke. Despite his status as a prince, he nudged the grey cat off his lap and placed the book aside; he rose to greet her. What a gentleman, even back then. "It's a pleasure to see you again. I wasn't aware you were visiting."_

"Lady Veira," Louis spoke, just like he had on that day. He rose, and greeted her with a gentle kiss on the hand. "It's a pleasure to see you—pardon my lack of presence yesterday though. What can I do for you?"

 _"I went to see father at Hill Castle," Veira explained, before looking at the old book the prince had been reading. She petted the cat. "You're so intelligent."_

"I wanted to see you. Indeed; you barely were present yesterday. How have you been?"

 _"Thank you, dear. Please, take a seat. You look as lovely as always."_

"I've…" He hesitated. Of course—this all was so close to that day. "I've been better. You, however, look lovely. Do take a seat. Are you looking forward to the ball?" He frowned—he probably didn't. Would he even be there?

 _The younger Veira chuckled. "Thank you. I wish I could believe you, though. How has little Shakespeare been?"_

"Yes, of course. Will you? What about little Shakespeare?"

 _The younger Louis smiled at the grey cat. "He is getting old, unfortunately. Mother has been worried about him, but he seems quite happy here. She has, unfortunately, been considering what we will do when he passes."_

"He passed away a few months after we left Angeles. I wish I could have taken him with me, but I believe that the library—it was his favourite spot, and from what I know, he passed away in a serene nap. The farm wouldn't have been right for him either way."

 _"Shakespeare the Second, then?" The younger Veira asked, petting the old cat._

"And you never found a new cat?" she wondered.

" _I do believe mother has more than just one favourite playwright. I believe she's quite fond of Brecht as well."_

"There was a war going on, Veira. Mother didn't have the time to sneak away and visit an animal shelter—and then…" He sighed. "I sometimes think about actually looking at some, but then again, if I just leave the palace…"

 _"Sweet. What are you reading?"_

"Of course," she nodded, quietly. "What are you reading?"

" _Fahrenheit 451. It's quite an old book._ "

"Brave New World. It's quite old. You probably don't know it."

 _"No, I don't," Veira replied, laughing. "I don't have the time to read, I'm afraid."_

Veira shook her head. Reading… she admired Louis' ability to sit down and focus for so long; she herself would probably fall asleep. "No, I don't, I'm afraid. The most difficult book I read is the Vogue, probably."

 _"You should try, if you have time. I can read to you, if you want," he laughed. "It helps to calm down."_

"Isn't that the magazine Sophy was interviewed for when the Selection was announced?" Louis asked. "Ernest talked to them, too, and grandmother…" He frowned—he probably hadn't been asked.

 _Veira laughed. "Why not?"_

 _At first, it had been a joke, but with the calming fire and little Shakespeare, she was happy to listen to the story._

"It wasn't incredibly interesting, I suppose," she quickly said, not wanting him to worry. "It's nothing you wouldn't have known—looking forward to it, meeting the girls, the organisation and all…"

"Do me the favour and don't tell Sophy," Louis began, "but she's quite terrible at organising."

"Huh? She's done well with the last month, I would say."

Louis rose an eyebrow. "I wasn't present, but Ernest noted that she forgot that it was the weekend."

"Well…" Veira tilted her head. "I don't know what weekday it is, either."

"You aren't in charge of organising the Selection though," he replied. "As well—did you know that she was intending to invite the families of the Selected? Something like that, I believe?"

"One relative for each, yes," Veira nodded. "Harriet talked about planning to ask her father at some point."

"She forgot. I know that two girls' families—emphasis on the plural of at least one of them—arrived, but that's it. Yours and Leila's families, of course, are invited as well, but she forgot at least thirty."

That, if it was true, was true. "Oh, I see," Veira hesitated. She closed her eyes, tired. "So, what is happening now?"

"I'm not sure if Xander knows, but somebody will need to make sure that the press doesn't hear of it. Once that aspect is done, I assume that he will make sure she is taking her work more seriously," Louis explained. "It's not my issue. I'm not involved with the Selection, fortunately."

Veira's eyes went down. Of course, he was glad. Of course, he wasn't involved with it. It was Xander's Selection—Sophy might enjoy organising, and Ernest definitely enjoyed the attention on the _Report_ , but what reason had Louis to be involved into it? None. She glanced over the soft layer of dust on the little table. When was the last time he sat here? She sighed.

"Are you alright, dear?"

"Of course, yes," Veira smiled.

"Would you be—" The door opened, making a loud sound. It moved slowly—awfully slowly.

 _In her memories_ , t _he door smashed open, pulling Veira out of her trance and Louis stopped mid-sentence._

A footman entered. Veira watched Louis close his eyes disappointed—what had he been about to say? Anything of importance? The servant bowed politely, but there was worry in his voice. Why was it that all the servants disliked him so much? "Apologies for the interruption, Your Royal Highness," he quickly said, bowing _again_ , before turning to Veira herself. "Lady Veira, your presence has been requested in the Women's Room."

Veira hesitated drowsy. "What—? Of course, yes, a moment, please." She rose, smiling towards Louis. "Thank you for your time."

"No worries, no worries—it's always a pleasure to speak to you, Veira. Thank you for _your_ time. I look forward to seeing you at the ball."

 _"Sir, please move to the safe rooms. Hill Castle has been invaded."_

/ / /

 **Women's Room in the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Kate Blanchard**

Kate was sitting in the last row, next to Rosy who was making unnaturally clean and careful notes. Despite the fact that she had, quite literally, hidden behind the security when they arrived at the palace, Rosy now was set on being a good student.

Weird, Kate thought.

Not her problem, she also thought.

She had to overcome Kiera Cass and her 'The Selection' fanfic that was still dominating the fanfiction charts; her Twilight Selection AU was so much more important! Especially when Kiera was Team Edward, and that in itself was a crime!

Also, there was a ball coming.

Rosy nudged her, passing a piece of paper without making eye contact. Eye contact wasn't Rosy's thing. That was cool. Rosy listened to Kate's rants about why Jakob was better, after all. She glanced at the note—it seemed to be from Irina.

 _Hey,_

 _My brother and I were talking, and apparently, no one in the Royal Guard knows about family members being invited, and he also pointed out that there are, like, no plans for it, so it shouldn't happen; does anyone know if that was cancelled?_

 _Irina_

Kate shrugged; she hadn't invited anyone either way. Rosy and Kate had a great time ranting about terrible mothers, but both hadn't spoken to the staff about invitations either—Sophia had told them to tell their maids.

 _No, I haven't. Why would they tell us that we can invite a relative, and not cancel it, though? When I called my family the last time, they insisted on me inviting my sister, and I did._

 _\- Ami_

"They insisted?" Kate read out. That sounded like yet another case of terrible parents. Maybe Ami could join their club? Did she have a dead relative too?

 _Sophia messed up with the planning, so it's not happening~_

The last line wasn't signed, but next to Rosy, Nereida was sitting, and she had a blue pencil on the table. The writing was blue—Kate's master detective skills derived from Sherlock Holmes insisted that it was her!

"Pass it on," Rosy whispered. "The others probably want to know too."

"Oh, right," Kate nodded, and handed the paper to Rowan next to her. "We should invite Ami to our Bad-Parents club!"

"… What?" Rosy blurted. "Please tell me that I misunderstood."

"Well, she wrote 'they insisted on me inviting my sister'. The phrasing doesn't suggest that they said 'we'd love to come but I think your sister would love the palace more', but more as in 'I don't care what you want, invite her', obviously."

Rosy blinked. "No, the _club_."

"Oh, I mean, your parents are jerks and my mum basically ignored it when dad died, and—"

"Lady Katheryn, must I remind you _not_ to talk this loudly during the lessons?"

Kate groaned. "Yes, ma'am." Umbridge was almost as bad as her mother. Helicopter parents were such a nightmare—too good that she wouldn't be around for the Selection. Time for Rapunzel (it was obviously which fairy tale princess Kate was) to find her prince and be saved.

She turned to Rosy and whispered, "Is your gown ready?"

"Kate, I am _not_ cosplaying a Disney princess! Frozen is terrible!"

"It's not!"

"It's so obvious that they changed the plot last-minute, and it's still obvious that Hans was the bad guy."

"But Let It Go—"

"Lady Katheryn! Lady Eu—" Umbridge broke off; Kate grinned. They all failed at Rosy's name.

"Oh, miss?" Alex rose her hand, but began speaking either way. "It's time for us to leave."

Her notes and all were already cleaned away; she looked like she was about to sprint away. Understandable, the lesson had been boring. Kate nodded, looking at the clock herself. Others took the message, and Umbridge sighed. There wasn't anything else she could do.

"Bye!" Kate hummed while dragging Rosy out of the room. Rapunzel and Elsa were about to go to the ball!

Well, except, they weren't.

Because right in front of the door stood Lillian Blanchard, politely speaking to a footman.

"Ah, Kate, _dear_! I am _so_ glad to see that you're alright! I have been _so_ worried about your safety, _darling_ ; who knows what could have happened to you?" She went on and on; Kate blocked it out. She had frozen mid-step.

This was not happening.

No, Lillian Blanchard was not in front of her.

No, she wasn't. This was just bad fanfiction.

" _Mum_?" she pressed out. "What. Are. You. Doing. Here?"

"Oh, darling, did you not hear? I received an invitation to the ball today, and I decided to stay in Angeles for a few weeks—"

 _A few weeks?!_

How difficult was it to get eliminated? Maybe she could ask Sloth Girl for some help… Where was Rosy when she needed help? She really needed help now—her mother was, if even, going to—oh no. Lillian Blanchard was pulling her into a hug. _Oh no_.

"Honey, are you sure that you don't want to come home? This is still a dangerous place, and I couldn't imagine if something happened to you!"

Yeah, but then again, Kate remembered how her mother reacted to her father's death. And she claimed that she 'could never ever go through another such terrible loss'. Very big loss; she totally had cried for weeks and hadn't gone to work happily the next day. Absolutely not. That had, obviously, been a dream.

Not.

Kate pulled herself out of her mother's embrace. "Uhm, mum, how did you get in here?"

"Oh, that wasn't that difficult. I called a few numbers; you left some at home when you left."

Kate cringed. Of course she had forgotten that (but she had been in such a good run; her Twilight Selection AU was doing so well!), and of course, her mother was using that against her. She gave her an overly done smile and glanced at Rosy who looked like she wanted to disappear in the wall.

 _Might as well be the nice YA heroine and save herself and her best friend_ , Kate thought.

"Well, it's lovely to see you, mum, but I have to go—right? Rosy? We have to change and all, so, uh, bye!"

And with that, she grabbed Rosy's hand and began to run. Fortunately, Kate was rather adept at that now (after walking these countless hours to the Province Services Office; still a bad memory—so long). Rosy's room was further away from the grand staircase (so many stairs, so large heels), so they had to go for Kate's. Rosy was shouting something, but Kate didn't have the mental capacity to listen.

She had to figure out how to get her mother away from here. That was so much more important.

"If my mother shows up, I'm not here!" she told her lady's maid.

"… Okay?" the maid replied, with some weird questioning expression. "Lady Tillings, I would recommend you to head to your room to prepare for the ball tonight."

Rosy was still catching her breath. "Yeah, I guessed that," she muttered. "Kate, _please_ stop dragging me along; I did not need to run."

"You looked like you wanted to fuse with the wall."

Rosy gulped—why? "I—uh—I'm—right. Please excuse me."

Rosy turned around, slammed the door and called out an "I'm sorry", leaving Kate Blanchard alone with her maid. Her maid gave her a forced smile, and gestured to the bathroom. "I will begin preparing a bath, ma'am."

"Do that, do that," Kate hummed. She liked having the maid around—even if they changed daily because surprise, they had days off and weren't working 24/7 (unlike what her eternal rival Kiera was doing in her story)—and while they sometimes looked a bit taken aback, they were really sweet.

She dropped onto the sofa, grabbed her laptop, but unfortunately didn't even get to typing in her password ("JakobIsBetter123"); someone knocked and she hummed a 'come in!' to them. A uniformed palace footman stepped in.

"Princess Sophia requested your presence in her office, ma'am. If possible, immediately."

"But I Just walked here…" Kate complained. "Also, where is that office?"

The footman remained neutral. "I am happy to accompany you there, ma'am, but I recommend you not to ignore Her Royal Highnesses' order."

Gosh, that was a long title.

"Okay," Kate chirped. "Lead the way!"

And so, he did. Kate maybe started a long, one-sided discussion about Kiera's characterisation of Edward Cullen and why he was not a nice guy, or why Bella Swan was stupid, but Mr Footman didn't seem to mind. Or he wasn't paid enough to care. Kate didn't care; problem solved.

She knocked, and the happy, bright voice of Princess Sophia came as an answer. This time, she was the one calling out the 'Come in!'.

"Hello," Kate hummed equally happy, with a curtsy. She had learned the etiquette! Of course, she had! Substantial research for her Selection AU! "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Oh, Lady Katheryn, hello. Yes. Right, I remember," she almost sounded disappointed—why? Sophia sat at her desk. What a cute pink desk lamp she had! It even had glitter on it! "I didn't expect you to have time now, actually," she laughed, "but alright—it's just a quick thing, either way. I heard that your mother came to Angeles, did she?"

Kate frowned. "Yes, she did."

Sophia fished something from her desk—a clipboard. "If she would like to, she's invited to the ball of course. There were some… organisation difficulties that made the attendance of all families impossible, but I'm sure that nobody will be bothered."

"Uh—"

"However, it would be inappropriate for her to stay much longer. It could be viewed as favouritism, going by Abby, so I hope you're alright with us limiting contact. It's also a security thing, I believe…"

"Oh, that's perfectly fine—great! Yes, of course! Do that! She'll understand it; she takes security super serious!"

Sophia smiled. "Amazing, thank you. That's all, love. See you at the ball. Have fun with your fanfictions!"

Kate nodded and bounded out of the office room. The princess knew about her fanfictions! Maybe she even read them! That was the ultimate victory to Kiera; she had a real princess reading her fanfictions, while Kiera didn't! Who cared about there being a large fandom behind her—Kate had the real deal!

While walking down the hallway (and not having entirely an idea what way she should be walking; Mr Footman had disappeared), Kate stopped when she recognises Xander walking down, in a conversation with some guard.

"Excuse me, Lady—" the guard stopped, glancing to Xander.

"Lady Katheryn, this is the third floor," the Crown Prince began, "unless I am missing something, the Selected are not meant to enter it. Please do return to your rooms; the ball is beginning soon, and I am sure you wouldn't want to miss it."

"Yeah, that's the plan!" Kate hummed. "Her Royal Highness wanted to speak to me—about my mum and all."

"Your mother?" Xander frowned.

"She's the type of helicopter mum, and she came to Angeles, but she said that it's a security issue to have her around so much, so besides today, they're getting rid of her!" Kate cheered.

Xander didn't look like he understood the situation. "Alright…?"

"That reminds me—do you know what's up with inviting the Selected's family?" the guard asked. _How rude for him not to address Xander by title_ , Kate thought, proud of her vast etiquette knowledge. Then again, Kate also cheered about getting rid of her mum, so she wasn't exactly the idea role model either.

"Yes, each was able to invite one family member or friend—why?"

"Well, it seems like Sophia messed up," the guard commented. "They didn't get any invitations."

Xander sighed. "Alright… I'll deal with it. Please do return to your post, Evan; thanks for helping me with that thing."

"No worries, we love to help. Tomorrow lunch, then?"

Xander nodded. "Or something like that. I'll have you notified."

Kate, having no idea what was going on, smiled the whole way through (although, to be honest, her mind kind of went back to her Twilight Selection AU), so when Xander nodded politely to her, she just went on skipping because the prince probably had work to do and she didn't want to bother him.

Oh, and her poor maid didn't know she left. Oops. She probably should have told her, huh…

/ / /

 **Next Chapter:**

 **Important: To everyone who submitted a character to Fallout, can you, in any way, let me know that you're still reading? I'm currently beginning to outline the post-Italian visit in greater detail, and I would like to tailor the plot to people who are still reading. If you have any characters you definitely want to see, feel free to add that too! If you don't have an OC in Fallout, but have a favourite, do tell me too!**

 **Oh gosh I just love writing Kate haha. I planned to make all the first interactions meaningful, but tbh, this feels so much more Xander AND Kate. He's busy with work and she's in the middle of her beloved Twilight Selection AU.**

 **imaterribleauthoriknow**

 **Little note-I really hope the Louis/Veira scene makes sense; I tried out something new with this, but essentially, the italic is a memory and you should be able to read each on their own. I wanted to try out writing something like that, but while I'm happy with the outcome, I doubt I'll do it again lmao.**


	26. Chapter 25

**Fallout**

 _In the previous chapter, Blair learned of the nature of Nereida's mysterious boyfriend—Prince Ernest—and now probably believes that Nereida is insane for not suspecting something to be wrong. Nereida also met her family again, and the girls learned that Sophia messed up in inviting their families. Meanwhile, Xander struggled to understand Victoria, and Veira briefly met with Louis, remembering the day her father died and Victoria was kidnapped. Kate narrowly escapes her mother (for the moment), and also runs into Xander who promises to take care of Sophia's mess up…_

 **Chapter 25**

»It is, until your mother calls you Cucumber in public, Miss Blanchard«

 **The Illéa's Holiday Residence, Clermont, Illéa  
Vicky Illéa**

 _2412._

 _It was summer—finally. Even better, it was finally time to take time off. Even when Vicky enjoyed following her father and brother to work (if she managed to escape her horrid governess) she still was the first to run into the garden when her governess had told her about the trip._

 _Lysandre Illéa—mummy—welcomed the energetic embrace immediately. Just as always, the Illéan queen's smile was magnificent. Even at eight years old, Vicky knew that mummy was an image of beauty. People always told Sophy grew up to look like her, and Vicky hoped that she would be the same. She wanted to be beautiful too—except when it meant to get her hair done by that horrid governess._

 _"Vicky, move!" Loulou called out. "I want too!"_

 _Her one-year-older brother wasn't going to pull her out of mummy's arms, and Vicky knew that. Therefore, she did not move. Instead, she pressed her head against her mother's soft, airy blouse._

 _Behind them, the magnificent, wide sea spanned from the beach to the horizon. Mummy and papa had enjoyed the sunrise here together. Vicky knew that because she had heard the servants talking. She liked listening to them—they told funny stories. After breakfast, Vicky had decided to join too._

 _Evidently, so had Loulou, Sophy, Ernie and Xanxan._

 _The pain of having four siblings._

 _"Vicky, let your brother come too," mummy whispered gently. Vicky grumbled, but moved. She had another parent to tackle down. She let go, allowing mummy to welcome the embrace of Loulou, and turned around to see her father just letting go of Sophy. Mummy and papa had only arrived yesterday evening, way past their bedtime._

 _That didn't stop Vicky from watching them arrive, but details._

 _"You look pretty, Sophy!" Vicky called out and jumped to hug both, her father and sister. Sophy was dressed in a dress as blue as the sky, with neatly made braids. Vicky had avoided the maids' braiding today again. She didn't like them touching her hair._

 _"You could look pretty too…" Sophy muttered, glancing aside to her father._

 _He didn't care. Papa pulled her welcoming into the embrace. Mummy and papa had been away to the north. Vicky didn't know what there was in the north, but Xanxan said that it was colder if you went far enough. If Xanxan said that, it probably was right. Loulou proposed to show her a map of Illéa in a book too, but by then, Vicky had been more interested in sneaking into Xanxan's lessons. They were more fun than looking at flowers and whatnot._

 _"Good morning to you too, Vicky," he told her._

 _"And we're being ignored, huh?" Ernie, behind them, complained. He deadpanned at them—something that Vicky could only see when she turned around to him. He had crossed his arms, and stood next to Xanxan, who didn't seem to mind._

 _Well, unlike Ernie, Xanxan could be patient. Vicky grinned._

 _She decided to let go of her father who let her move. Sophy let him go too, but by the time, she could say anything, Sophy was already busy with tackling down Ernie into the warm, soft sand. She could hear Sophy's surprised outcry, alongside Ernie breathing in sharply._

 _"Vicky! What are you doing!?" Sophy called out. "You'll hurt Ernest!"_

 _Meanwhile, Vicky was busy staying on Ernest who desperately tried to push her away. Ernie was much older than her, and managed to do that, but the moment Vicky's back touched the sand, she jumped up already._

 _"Vicky! What was that meant to be!" Ernie complained. He proceeded to wipe the sand away from his t-shirt._

 _"You wanted a hug!" Vicky declared proudly._

 _"I did not want to be tackled to the ground…" Ernie muttered annoyed._

 _Vicky shrugged. "Well, you should have specified that."_

 _Ernie rolled his eyes. Vicky had long understood that her brother thought that being fourteen years old made him very adult and that he absolutely was above simple games. He said that while still being very, very much into watching that childhood television show that not even Vicky watched anymore. For some reason, he was addicted to it. For some reason, he denied that he watched it, when he could recite the first episode by heart._

 _Xanxan had been quietly watching them (he often chuckled when Ernest was humming the theme song of said show) and didn't move a bit. She could see the slight surprise in his expression when their mother hugged them from behind. Loulou followed._

 _"So, are you ready for holidays?" Mummy asked cheerful._

 _"Yeah!" Vicky called out._

 _Sophy was a bit gentler. "I do, mother," she replied with a curtsy._

 _Loulou nodded, hiding behind his mother (probably worried for being tackled down, too, but Vicky wouldn't do that—Loulou would probably be squeezed to death) and Xanxan did it, too, although much less shy._

 _"I would like to go swimming," Xanxan announced._

 _"Me too…" Loulou muttered. "But I also want to read…"_

 _"You can read at home, Louis," Sophy reminded him. Loulou nodded._

 _"I'm going inside," Ernie muttered._

 _Papa sighed. "Ernest, stay with us. This is a family holiday."_

 _Ernie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know," he replied, "and I'm going inside."_

 _"Please," mummy said, "why don't you stay with us?"_

 _"Because it's… boring?" Ernie shrugged. "Besides, I see you all often enough."_

 _Papa shook his head. She could see the fatigue in his eyes—why? Hadn't they just gone to the north? Wasn't that a holiday? They were on one now, so why did he look so stressed? Vicky glanced to her mother. She looked tired too…_

 _"I'll ask Xanxan later." She whispered to herself._

 _"What will you do?" Sophy asked with a smile._

 _"That's a secret!" Vicky hummed, and grabbed her sister's hand. "Come! Let's go swimming!"_

 _"But—wait! Vic!" She was still wearing clothes. Vicky was still wearing clothes. For some reason, that was an issue for Sophy. Vicky didn't see a good reason why it might be, so therefore, she continued rushing towards the waves with_

 _Once the first wave hit the shouting Sophy ("My dress is getting wet, Vic!"), she stopped, turned around, and aimed at her next sprint at the two brothers. Xanxan dodged (although he evidently had given in to his face and said something along the lines of "I'll go and change"), but Ernie once again was too slow. A moment later, Sophy was trying to keep her ankle-length dress out of the water, and Ernest was lying in the waves._

 _"Victoria!"_

 _Meanwhile, mummy and papa were cracking up, and Loulou was hiding behind mummy. Xanxan had, so Vicky guessed, gone to change, but that didn't matter now. She was dead set on getting her parents into the water too._

 _"Mummy! Papa! You come too!" she called out between giggles._

 _Mummy and papa turned around to their waving, laughing daughter._

 _Unlike Sophy (who had gotten back to the beach by now) and Ernie (sitting with the waves pushing against his back, evidently annoyed), the King and Queen of Illéa had expected the family to go swimming at some point today, and therefore, they had dressed for that._

 _"Give me a moment!" Mummy called out, leaving to the table in the back where she dropped blouse and skirt in favour of the swimsuit she had been wearing below. "I'm coming!" she laughed out._

 _"Wait—I want to take a photo," dad called out. "Give me just a moment." They laughed._

Victoria's eyes were stuck to the photos on the wall of Sophia's drawing room. She remembered that holiday, and that photo. It was losing colours. Just like her memory of mummy's voice. She could watch the videos, but the way she spoke in front of the camera—that wasn't mummy. It wasn't her real self. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"So yeah, that's the story," Sophy ended. Sophy, Victoria reminded herself. Her sister. The same girl as on the image. She frowned. "And I get to play all besties with them."

"Hmhm…" She didn't turn around to her.

"What do you think?"

"You look pretty," she replied absent-minded. Dress-up games had always been mummy and Sophy's hobby. She herself wasn't even… Tori hadn't gotten around to making her hair today.

"You haven't turned around," Sophy reminded her. Therefore, Vic turned around. Pretty ball dress. Nothing special. Sophy was taller, looked more like mummy. But she wasn't mummy.

Sophy took one of the countless tulle layers of her ball gown into her hand. "I wasn't so sure about the orange one, but lavender kind of goes well with it, if you look at it. I like the flowers on it, but some of the girls have something similar and I'm still thinking of changing something… I think I'll go for an up-do hairdo—where's my maid?"

Someone walked in. A maid. Not one of them. She wouldn't hurt her, Victoria reminded herself, again. Sophy sat down, told the maid something about low bun and curls. She began with her work.

"I originally planned something with roses—pastel blue and pink—but one of the girls had gotten something similar, and I couldn't waste that money, so I had to get something else. Terrible annoyance, believe me."

"Hmhm…" Victoria sat down at the princesses' desk. It was chaotic—not like when Tori was sitting down in her rooms and working. She was neat with things, but Sophy had been writing on at least five papers at the same time…

Victoria saw numbers. Just like in these countless meetings she had sneaked into because it was fun and she wanted to be with dad and Xanxan (when he was around), and because all these numbers meant to hear more than just what was going on within the palace boundaries…

Victoria saw letters—in a foreign language, she noted. "Ikk… Ish… Ich freue… mich auf deine Antwort, Frederick…"

Sophy looked up (poor maid) and waved with the fan she probably picked up. "Oh, don't worry about that. Diplomacy stuff."

"What language is that?"

"German, don't worry about it. It's nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"You sound like Tori when she—when she—when she—" Victoria shuddered. "Please excuse me… Where's Tori?" she asked the maid.

"P-pardon me? Your Royal Highness?"

"Where's Tori?"

"Probably working? I doubt she's invited—she doesn't seem to be the type to go to balls, even if she's friends with Xander. This is a—" Working. Working was enough of a response. Working meant she knew where Tori would be.

"Excuse me," she muttered, before rushing off. Off before the memories would start.

This time, bad memories.

/ / /

 **The Grand Hall of the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Sophia of Illéa**

Sophia passed people in suits and ball gowns, with jewellery and bracelets, tiaras and rings. Sophia herself, unfortunately, was not married, and tradition meant she shouldn't wear a tiara. If she did, that would cause headlines.

If she did, the press (that shouldn't even be invited, in her opinion) wouldn't swarm around the girls. Poor girls. Today was their first day in real contact with the press. Sure, there had been cameras when they moved, but distant—not in person.

She passed Leda and Rowan when she entered the grand hall and a footman announced her presence politely. Curtsies to the princess, she thought when watching the guests. The princess, just as she was—a princess by blood.

" _Not now, dearie, not now. They aren't worth your attention_ ," she reminded herself.

Helena spoke to the Schreaves—the Waverly governor, his wife, and Veira. Veira was an adequate choice. She looked beautiful too—like a true lady she was. Not like Nereida Statten and her friend, Blair Willow, who were talking to a bunch of strangers Sophia didn't even know (and that meant something!) while wearing a gown too similar to what she planned. At least Blair looked decent.

What was Ernest doing with them? He should know better!

Then again, that was Ernest, wasn't it?

She folded her hands above the tulle skirt and stepped into the crowd. Said hello to old friends. Smiled at strangers who somehow had gotten their hands on an invitation. She glanced at a woman that looked awfully like a reporter she had met once, talking to Isla Woodley, Zarah Baine and Ami Kennedy, and walked past the Sloth Girl that, fortunately, was not wearing her sloth costume.

She dearly hoped that Xander would be sensible and eliminate her.

"Sophia." Talking about the devil. Xander joined her. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course," Sophia smiled. "How was the ministry—which one was it again?"

"Education," the prince replied. In uniform, and not lose shirt and casual wear. He looked better with the sash and the medallions. "Have you spoken to Victoria? I saw her this morning and she seemed… awfully strange. I'm concerned."

"I'm sorry—talking to Tori would probably be more fit," she replied. "I've been busy preparing for the ball. Have you thought about the meeting? About who to—"

"That's not a topic to be discussed in public, Sophia."

True. "Of course." She smiled. "Shall we see them? I'm sure it'll be interesting to see some of them in public, rather than private."

"Of course," Xander replied, distracted.

Sophia hid her frown. " _For once, Xander, please don't think about Victoria but the other family matters you have_ ," she thought. She didn't say that out loud, of course. "Oh, Lana, I haven't seen you in ages!"

Lana Sinclair, who happened to be Leila Sinclair's mother, was a socialite of status, among other things. She smiled at the two siblings with a polite curtsy as it was fit for a lady of her status. "Your Royal Highnesses, I am glad to see you again," she replied, accompanied by her husband, a military general. There was something Sophia felt reminded off, but she couldn't say what. How strange.

"It's a pleasure indeed," Xander replied. "How have you been?"

"Magnificent. I've spoken to a few of the girls—what was her name again? Zarah Baine? She was with the Lady Ami and Lady Isla—both very sweet. A bit energetic, but very sweet. They all look breathtaking—I'm amazed you got Leila into a dress. How did you convince her?"

Good question—Sophia barely remembered holding a conversation with Leila in the past months. Everyone was wearing gowns, so she had to—the ball was white tie, of course. How sweet of them, though, to mention the beauty of the Selected's dresses.

Even when Xander and Sophia continued to speak to Lana Sinclair, she did not comment on Sophia's long ball gown and the beauty of her hair. She didn't bother to compliment her for her hard work either, or anything, really.

Sophia took it with a smile.

The wiser head gives in.

"They will see," she told herself, before continuing on.

"How many of the Selected do you remember?" she curiously inquired of her brother when leaving another couple of family friends.

"What do you mean?" Xander replied. "All of them?"

"More than just names and provinces—who left an impression?"

"Sophia—we have a meeting on that tomorrow. Today is father's birthday."

"Have you seen him, though?"

No, they hadn't. Ernest hadn't either, she assumed, nor had their grandfather or grandmother. The Queen Mother was having a polite conversation with a couple that Sophia didn't recognise, as well as Ernest and Nereida Statten. Gosh, did that girl even remember who Ernest was? Who Helena was? Probably not.

Sophia smiled to them when Ernest made eye contact. Well, she forced it. He looked equally awkward when they met.

"Look," Xander noted, nodding into a direction into the crowd. Sophia followed, recognising a red-headed lady in the crowd. "Isn't that—"

"Yes, it is," Sophia finished. "Scarlet Hunter." The blogger and journalist that had also been the one to reveal all of Ernest's countless one-night-stands. Not particularly a favourite of the royal family. By the looks of it, she was grilling Rosy Tillings, and honestly? Rosy looked like she was dying.

While they speed-walked (as much as you could, in a ball gown) over to her, Sophia briefly questioned how it'd look for them to rush over, but as organiser of the Selection, it obviously was her duty. If none of the other girls came to Rosy's aid, she would be.

And yes, Rosy was past the edge of tears. Sophia gave the present guards a discreet wave.

"Come on, please, do tell me," Hunter hummed.

"Miss Hunter, what a surprise," Sophia hummed in that happy, cheerful voice she used all too often.

"Your Royal Highnesses, what a surprise indeed, may I ask—"

"Miss," Xander began, much less happy and much more like the stern soldiers Sophia had met. "Since when are you invited?"

"Oh, I came along as a—"

"Miss, if you do not have an invitation, you are trespassing. Into the Illéa Palace. That can easily be considered high treason."

"Oh, come on, I—" She was interrupted within seconds by the quietly approaching royal guard that Sophia had waved over.

Hunter was being dealt with by the guard; now the issue was Rosy and the fact that she was almost hyperventilating too. _Oh gosh, what a poor girl_. Scarlet could be a nightmare. Sophia had seen that, with her brother. She had seen that a lot.

"Lady Euphrosyne?" she began, "are you alright? Can you hear me?"

This couldn't be too different from Louis, could it? Something in her wanted to sigh, though—Louis was going to appear at some point, and this was going to happen again. Sophia knelt down, as elegant as she could in her ball gown.

 _Just so much more._

 _Then I'm out of here._

"A panic attack?" Xander, behind her, guessed.

"I guess so," Sophia replied. "Lady Euphrosyne?" she repeated. Rosy didn't respond—if she even heard her. "I'll get her out of here—just—make sure that no one notices her. It's probably the stress or so. Maybe Scarlet—who knows." She waved a couple of servants over, directing them to help Rosy out of the room and promised she'd join them in a moment. Difficult enough, but Rosy complied.

How bizarre.

Then again, the ball she had organised wasn't exactly meant to be a vacation. She had to run the evening—even when she hoped to stand out. To be acknowledged for the work she did. To be complimented.

Maybe, Xander marrying wasn't so bad. Another pair of hands would be nice. The princess ignored the thought. Another pair of hands would steal all the acknowledgement. Just as little Vicky as their father's constant shadow. At least Sophy knew that she, now and then, was the better choice.

Once more, she made eye contact with Xander, and she decided to follow Rosy into the halls besides the Grand Hall. He'd handle it, she hoped. Xander could cope, and handle things—even if their father suddenly decided to show up after all… Why ever that would happen.

She slipped through the door—how unfortunate that she would need to waste that time; she could have caught up with friends and family. She didn't even have time to attend a friends' birthday celebration…

Sophia smiled towards one of the maids, before coming to a halt. She looked at the trembling Rosy. She was calming down, by the looks of it. Good. "Do you know what could have happened?" she asked.

"Besides her talking to a redhead, no, Your Royal Highness."

"Right—then let's see…" Sophia knelt down again, "Lady Euphrosyne?"

"I—I'm sorry," she replied.

"It's fine," the princess replied. "Take a deep breathe… in… out… in…" She knew the rhythm quite well, and smiled when it also applied to Rosy. She stopped. Good.

Still bizarre.

"Did Miss Hunter do anything to you?" she inquired. Sure—probably not the best way to help her, but Rosy counted as calm.

"She—" Rosy broke off.

 _Come on, talk to me. I have other things to do._

"She just asked—" Rosy dodged her eyes; she looked onto the ground. Her dress wasn't even as pretty as Sophia's; she could be polite and look at her while they were talking, she thought. "Asked questions."

"What questions?" Sophia inquired.

"My stance onto the rebellion, the caste system, inclusion of girls from towns that were supportive to them…"

"What did you say?"

"I—I didn't get to that."

Good. That or 'not comment' was the only adequate response.

"Good," Sophia therefore repeated. "Are you able to—"

Kate Blanchard interrupted her, by rushing—on what Sophia hoped to be heels—towards them. "Rosy! Here you are!"

"… Kate." Rosy gave her half a smile. "Sorry—I didn't mean to leave you."

"Oh, no worries! I had a great discussion with some rich lady about Twilight. She seemed really interested—we might talk later! That's so cool, isn't it? I made another friend! I think her name was Alya or so… Oh, hi, your highness!"

"It's nice to see you in such a good mood, Lady Katheryn," Sophia pressed out.

"You look really pretty!" Kate beamed. "Where did you get that dress from? I looks like in a movie! I want one too!"

Now that made her smile become genuine. "Oh, really? Thank you," she smiled. Finally someone who acknowledged her! "I had made it for me, but if you talk to the staff, they might be able to make something similar for you, in given time. Maybe even for the Savoy visit!"

"That'd be awesome, wouldn't it be? Rosy?" Rosy gave her a vague nod. "I can take care of Rosy now; I'm sure you're really busy."

"Magnificent. I am, indeed. Thank you—and please don't worry about coming back in if you feel unwell. I've seen Miss Hunter cause quite a few issues before; we do understand," she added to Rosy. As graceful as a princess should be, Sophia rose and turned around towards the large doors to the grand hall. She did walk on, but hesitated in stepping through the doors.

"What happened?" Kate asked Rosy.

"I told you," Rosy replied determinant, "I don't do well with attention…"

"Why did you sign up for the Selection, then? Isn't that kinda' the epitome of attention?"

"It's better than being pulled to social functions with my parents. It's almost like an unfortunately high profile vacation. I can assure you, I don't plan on winning."

"Well…" Kate plumbed onto the ground. "Wanna stay here then? I'm happy to go and avoid my mum; you can avoid the crowd then!"

 _How curious_ , Sophia thought. Definitely two she'd want to keep, if for different reasons.

"I need a break," she muttered when stepping back into the crowd. How un-princess-like—but if Scarlet Hunter approached Rosy before her, then that didn't really matter either way.

/ / /

 **The Grand Hall of the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

 _One will be your wife_.

Scary.

Xander passed Sophia briefly when she returned; hearing from her that Rosy (and Kate) wouldn't remain at the ball was unfortunate, but expectable. He had seen it, too, he reminded himself, and there were other times. It wasn't that he didn't have duties at the moment.

"Just—let's make sure that Hunter didn't talk to anyone else," Sophia whispered, before heading off.

Xander nodded, and turned to one of the present servants to inquire if they had noticed any further conversations. The answer came quick; yes, they had, but only with one because Hunter had been looking for the King. Such a search was futile, but whenever that was good or bad was the question. Xander hoped his father would come—for the country's sake alone. He hoped.

He turned around, to the guests that were slowly heading towards the banquet hall and the dinner. For when had Sophia planned this, again? He couldn't remember—usually, he would… what even was 'usually' again? This was the first real ball hosted by them since the end of the Unrest.

Xander sighed. Things had changed, huh?

"Focus," he told himself. "You need to solve the Hunter issue."

Isla Woodley, the servant had said. She and Hunter had arrived around the same time, and going by what the servant had seen, Hunter had noticed her and pestered her for answers. However, in the crowd, finding one girl wasn't as easy as other things could have been.

"Your Royal Highness," someone spoke—Xander turned around to face the governor of Sumner.

"Good evening, governor," he replied, almost automatically. He had been re-elected recently, merely on the basis that no one else had chosen to run. The two of them had spoken for long enough, considering the destruction done in Sumner. It hadn't been a while.

"Do you mind me asking if you happen to know why Lady Isla has been dodging me?"

"I wouldn't know, no." He barely knew anything else about her, except for her niece and background. "Maybe she just wants to avoid politics for now."

He could understand that; planning in dates in the next weeks was almost impossible. He had meetings to attend. Leaving politics on second priority was a no-no but also _one will be your wife._

"I don't think she had any bad intentions; I would avoid politics right now, too. I will ask, if it comes up."

"Magnificent." And from there, the conversation went on to politics. And ended quickly, because there was little to be discussed. Good. Selected. Talk to Isla. Figure out if they needed to stop Hunter from doing anything bad.

 _One will be your wife_.

After three other conversations with people whose name didn't happen to be Isla Woodley, he finally managed to spot her alongside Lady Zarah and Lady Ami. Her niece wasn't around, understandably. Isla's presence, however, opened another issue. If he just walked to her, people could take that the wrong way—he didn't mean to play favourites, and honestly he didn't exactly plan to do that at all, because he wanted to keep it all fair, and maybe even ignore it, because the Selection was a serious thing and he had absolutely no idea on how to deal with that, and—

"Oh, hi'ya," Zarah waved, in the least 'I am wearing a ball gown'-way possible.

"Good evening, Lady Zarah, Lady Isla, Lady Ami."

"How're you doing?" Ami chirped.

"Great, thank you. It's quite full of people here," Xander commented. Wow. Great.

"… Isn't that… the point?" Isla frowned.

"That's true—yes." _Better get to the point so you can go away, Xander._ "I noticed that you were talking to Scarlet Hunter—what did you talk about?"

"She asked me and Ami about some politics, essentially," Isla replied. "We both talked about what we were doing during the Unrest, and our struggles. I spoke a bit about my parents, and my niece."

Xander nodded. "Pardon me asking, but I know Hunter, and she's not a particularly good person. What exactly was that?"

"My mother's addiction, and my father's early death. Me leaving the family and taking care of Annie," Isla summarised nonchalantly. Addiction? Xander wanted to sigh. That sounded like an issue. A bad issue. "Also about the reconstruction of Sumner, and how it's sad that we're losing our home town because entirely new cities are being build, rather than rebuilding our homes."

Huh?

"What do you mean?"

"Well, many people call the cities in Sumner that are being abandoned their home. Of course, it costs money and gangs essentially took over, but it's still our home—building a new city won't equal what our home is—what it means to us."

"She talked _a lot_ about that," Zarah laughed. Ami nodded, amused. "We didn't get to say a word."

"I see…" Xander nodded. Politics—a comment. Could be an issue, but only really to Isla. Good. Well, almost. _Thinking that it was 'no issue' is mean_ , he thought, _and she could be your future wife, Xander._

Should he talk more to them? Be nice? Socialise? The choice was them or some other family guests and whatnot. He gave the three girls another friendly smile, and excused himself. Better run than deal with this, he decided. Better run than talk to girls.

 _One will be your wife_.

He escaped for three minutes, before finding himself in front of Tessa Evans and Cilla Chamberlain. He nearly said 'Great', but caught himself, when Cilla happily greeted him, and even invited him to sit with them. Right. They'd need to go and sit down soon.

"I would love," he lied (he really didn't, by now), "but unfortunately, the seats were allocated previously."

"Oh, that's too bad," Cilla hummed. "Do you think it's possible for Tessa and me to sit together, though?" Xander blinked. It'd be difficult, but he saw why—Tessa looked like she was a step away from turning into Rosy.

"I do believe that Sophia placed all Selected together," he replied. At least he hoped. "So if not, I'm sure someone will switch. You might need to inform the staff, but if it's between you girls, I'm sure it's not as much an issue."

"Thank you so much," Tessa smiled. "That's… That's great."

"Is everything alright though?"

"Uh… I… I… I've not really been… I've not _really_ been in any situation this public and with so many strangers… My mother has always been a bit… protective, you know."

"Well, now you've got the chance to get out of your shell!" Cilla smiled. "And I'm here for you."

"Yes but… look at us—I have no idea how to deal with all these people…" Tessa's voice was nothing but a whisper. "I can do horses—but what do I say to people when they say hi to us?"

"Maybe, you could let them lead the conversation?" Xander suggested. "I couldn't say I'd know how I do it, though. To these people," he nodded to the crowd of guests, "I usually only talk if I have to—or if I need something of them."

Cilla chuckled. "I mean, that's understandable. I just have no idea what to say to them either—and I'm a Two."

"… Well, the only strangers I talked to were people at the ranch… and that was about horses."

"You're a good teacher though," Cilla pointed out. "She taught me how to ride over the last month!"

"Talk about horses then," Xander suggested with a chuckle. Though, it had been years since he last rode one himself. "I have to admit, we do have horses, but it's been ages since I last rode one."

"It's easy, I believe," Tessa chirped.

"… You work at a ranch, though?" Cilla laughed. "By the way—do you happen to know what happened with the invitations to our families? I've heard rumours and all, but…"

Xander sighed. _How to explain this…_ "From what I understand, there was an issue with the organisation, but I wasn't involved into anything, so I can't tell you."

"That's unfortunate," Tessa acknowledged. "I believe, my mother would have looked forward to seeing me."

"Well… at least my parents can't push me into stuff," Cilla deadpanned.

"What do you mean?" _One will be your wife_. _Be nice._

"Well," Cilla began hesitant, "so, they want me to go into pop, but I'm not fond of it. Country might not sell as much, but I love it, you know?"

Xander nodded—he heard enough of that through his grandmother. "So it's doing what you want, or what really brings in money."

"I'd love to do something, but I really don't know. That's kind of why I signed up. Exposure—to people and new things. Maybe I'll find a middle way." She shrugged. "I'll see. No need to worry now—we have a ball to tackle."

Or she'd get the exposure of the Selection and through that popularity, Xander concluded. Like Abby, he realised. Even after a short period in the Selection, she had gained enough exposure… Xander smiled—if he came to eliminate her, her life wouldn't suffer at all. Good to know. He wouldn't need to worry around her—at least not as much.

"Uhm… sorry… I don't… I don't mean to interrupt but…" Tessa pointed to the hallway to the large dining room. Right. Food. "I think it's time to leave…?"

Xander nodded, "Of course. It was nice talking to you."

Next issue—his father.

Which solved itself surprisingly easily. Because Adrian Illéa, against what Sophia and Xander expected, showed up. Xander wasn't sure whenever he wanted to question it, or not. Xander could make out his father's head in the distance, talking to the governor of Waverly, Veira's uncle.

A Schreave, good. That was someone they could trust.

"Oh, Your Royal Highness," somebody chirped. Xander recognised Anastasia Collins, accompanied by Jaira Phillips, approaching him. "How are you doing?" she asked.

"Quite stressed, actually," he replied. And tired, and not fond of making up the truth. _One will be your wife_.

"That's unfortunate," Jaira replied. She sounded like his secretary—professional and not as happy and casual as Cilla. Both did. _It's just work_ , _Xander_ , he told himself. That was easier. "Have you tried yoga?"

"Yoga?" He hadn't expected a recommendation. "No, I haven't yet."

"It's quite helpful; Jaira was so nice to teach me a bit. Or, if you have more time, things such as hiking are really nice."

"Not if you live in snow, though," Jaira joked.

"I can imagine that," Xander chuckled. "I'm sure it allows for other nice things though."

"I can always recommend ice skating," she agreed.

Anastasia had come to frown. "Although, do you even have the time to relax? Your sister mentioned you being quite busy. A good work-life balance is very important—taking time for yourself, to just relax and all, I mean."

"I know," Xander replied. He took a deep breath. "Unfortunately, a country doesn't run itself, and…" so did the Selection. That'd be a dream. _One will be your wife, Xander._

"I believe I did see the King," Anastasia pointed out. "Maybe he is finally getting better?"

"I do hope so," Xander nodded. "But I won't rely on hope alone. Shall we go inside?"

/ / /

 **The Grand Hall of the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Queen Helena The Queen Mother**

At bit earlier, Helena hadn't expected her son to show up. Not that she was particular happy about that—one son dead, one daughter abroad and one grieving his wife while leaving the country to her grandson wasn't the best outlook.The Queen Mother watched the ball in silence, even after she had entered. The large, beautiful pillars of the grand hall had been decorated with white roses. They weren't her son's favourite; he preferred the dark red ones.

Their meaning, however, was adequate. Sophia had chosen well.

Innocence. White roses symbolized innocence.

Today was King Adrian's birthday, yes, but it was also the birthday of the late queen. Helena couldn't help but be thrown at the memorial Sophia had set up. Adrian wouldn't like to be reminded, and nor did she.

Then again, she still wasn't sure if he would even grace them with his presence. His mother or not, Helena hadn't seen him in a while. It worried her—he was too dependent on his wife. She quietly thanked whoever was watching her that Adrian hadn't let Lysandre Illéa influence politics.

If that had been the case, Xander and his siblings would have grown up in war for even longer.

"Now without a mother, it's my duty to help him in this," she believed. "And not only Xander, but all of the five."

Particularly the youngest two were too attached to the past, in her opinion. Both Louis and Victoria needed to snap out of it; what was gone was gone, she believed. She adjusted the long white gloves that covered her arms, and smiled when recognising Ernest.

Hopefully, he had moved on from his past as well.

"Grandmother," he bowed, "how are you doing?"

"Magnificent, darling," Helena replied. "Who was that in your company?"

"Huh?" Ernest blinked.

"Darling, please, I saw you speaking to that lovely couple and that girl—the Asian one. Lady Nereida was with you too, I believe."

"Uh, yes, uh… They're her family. We just happened to run into each other and said hi, you know? I stayed in the same town as Nereida lived in, and I met her father a couple of times…"

As much as Lysandre had influenced Ernest's interests towards the theatrical arts, he was no actor, and his worry was definitely not well hidden. Helena hadn't heard anything just yet, but she made the mental note to assure herself that there was nothing illicit going on between Nereida Statten and her grandson.

As much as she wasn't too bothered by Ernest's choices, she did not like him having a bad image. Poor girl, too.

Something was fishy for sure.

"Ernest," Helena therefore began, "please don't get into trouble. It's not worth it, and Jonathan won't like it either. As much as I don't like him, I do agree with him."

As expected, her grandson rolled his eyes and groaned. "Seriously? Why do you all just—seriously, we just talked. It's nothing you need to worry about, really. I thought you wanted me to look at the girls?"

She lowered her voice. "Yes, Jonathan does recommend you to settle down. That does not involve having one-night stands with Xander's Selected."

"I don't sleep with anyone," Ernest insisted. "I do have standards—high ones, at that."

"Of course, you do," Helena deadpanned. "And there are absolutely not at least twenty women in the span of one month who claim the opposite."

"That was three years ago! Bonita changed me!"

By all means, as much as Helena wanted to believe into people changing (she really did), experience had proven the opposite. She had hoped that Henry would see the dangers that the economic troubles near the end of his reign had brought. She had hoped that Lysandre Wilde would have listened to her. She had hoped that Adrian would come out of his hole and stop with this children's play. She had hoped Illéa would welcome her and her efforts, on both sides of the system. They didn't. Not entirely. Not in the way they should have. This was no fairy tale.

People tended to disappoint. It was their nature.

"Ernest, please, do be careful," she ended, gave him a smile for the cameras that were inevitably around, and turned away. She made the mental note to make sure to look into Nereida Statten and her grandson; she'd need to warn Xander tomorrow, when eliminations would be discussed.

Helena remembered little about that girl, besides her inevitable naïveté. There couldn't be much more. Most of these girls didn't bring that much to the table.

"Your Majesty," someone, however, had approached her. The Queen Mother, smiling, turned around. An old friend? A politician? A guest? Maybe a servant—she didn't mind. There was no difference, if they didn't make one be.

The man waiting for her had a beautiful woman following, although their clothes were, by all means, no adequate for the ball. Helena had dealt with many people who couldn't afford a dress fit for a high society occasion.

She understood.

What Helena didn't understand was why they were here, though. The man bore some resemblance to someone she recognised though. Helena met many people; he was just one in the crowd. How unfortunate.

"Good evening," she replied to his polite bow. He knew how to act. "Do apologise my memory, but I _am_ getting old; have we met before?"

"My name is Carson, ma'am. Many years ago, you invited me to accompany you on your annual tour through Illéa. I understand if you don't remember me, but I wanted to express my gratitude for what you did for me, all these years ago."

So, he was one of her many proteges? One of the many young hopeful artists that she couldn't leave alone in the darkness of Caste Five? Warmth shot into the old woman's heart as she smiled. What a sweet surprise after her grandson's flirting adventures.

Helena wasn't sure if there maybe wasn't even a tear of happiness on her cheek. "My dear, how many years ago must that have been?" The woman by his side evidently was his wife. They both looked out of the age range she had set for her Queen's Project.

"More than twenty years, I believe," Carson replied.

"Carson," the woman began, "has since then become our home town's greatest pianist, and that fortune has come thanks to you, Your Majesty."

Helena's smile was as genuine than on the day her oldest child had been born. "I am glad to hear that. It was what I desired when I began with the tours."

A couple of hasty click-clacks announced the arrival of another couple—this time two young girls; Nereida Statten and the other Asian girl. Nereida remembered to curtsy—how fortunately, that girl had learned.

Thinking of it, Helena did remember that she did put in quite a bit of effort…

"Good evening, Your Majesty," she hummed.

"I hope Nereida has not been too much of a bother for you," the woman hummed.

"Do you happen to know each other?" Helena inquired, surprised by the connection.

"Nereida and Sirena—" That had to be the other girl. "—are our daughters, adopted. Unfortunately, we were unable to have children on our own, but these two are the joy of our life. I'm sure you understand."

Oh yes, how much she did.

Then, Nereida Statten wasn't just a little naïve girl who didn't know who the royal family was, but she was also a Five. How wrong Helena had been; it hurt her own heart. Maybe naïve, yes, but Nereida was, in some way, just as much her sister as she viewed every single Five out there to be her sibling.

They all were artists at heart, after all.

"Magnificent," Helena spoke. Now the notes that she had read through came to her mind. "I did notice her beautiful dance abilities. She has definitely been very dedicated."

"Thank you," Nereida smiled. No—she didn't smile—she radiated happiness. There was something in the way, she held her sister's hand, and the way her parents looked at her that showed it. More too—a hopeful artist that hadn't been broken by the system just yet.

Maybe because of her father's success.

If she had misjudged Nereida so quickly, then, Helena realised, she probably had misjudged all other girls as well. She needed to take a closer look, be safer in understanding their potential.

She also needed to make sure that Nereida understood what a player her grandson could be.

"Do I remember it correctly that you were speaking to my grandson, Ernest, just before?" she added on.

"Briefly, briefly," Carson replied. "I was curious about his current work."

"The charity? It's on the _Report_ , I would believe…."

"We don't have a TV," the younger girl, Sirena, commented.

"No, the script he had been working on," the woman replied. "Nereida worked in one of the plays as dancer, and she told us about his newest project."

Script? Play? Project?

Since when did Ernest have actual—

Lysandre Illéa. As always. Lysandre Illéa, and her damned influence over her own blood.

Helena smiled. "Oh, of course, I see. I should ask about that as well; I haven't heard much. Please, do excuse me—although it was a blessing to see you again."

Helena left the family before they could even say their goodbye, but honestly, she had no time to even think about them (as touched as she was). She wanted to know what Ernest was up to this time, and if she needed to (even if she didn't want to) tell Jonathan.

They couldn't let him ruin things again. His image had been bad enough for the Unrest.

Once again, Helena did not get too far—even when she was stepping into the shadow to ask where the prince was. This time, though, it wasn't anyone stopping her, but rather, she stopping herself. In the hallway to the Grand Hall, she recognised a face she had seen all her life.

Adrian Illéa.

Talking to a stranger.

"It's terrible, yes," the stranger—a young woman, again of Asian descent—said. "Not a day passes on which I don't think of them. I can only be glad that I was able to keep Kate safe… I couldn't imagine how it must be with Victoria."

Adrian nodded. His suit—perfectly tailored—looked too big for him. That emptiness in his eyes hadn't gone, and by all means, Helena knew it was only thanks to the lovely servants that her son's hair was washed.

She wanted to go and hug him, her baby. Her son. Her sunshine. Her darling. She did not like the stranger talking to him—where there guards? Yes, at least.

"I tried to speak to her, quite a few times, but she doesn't respond. From what I understand, she hasn't recognised any of us—we are fortunate she understands who Xander is. I just wish… I want my little girl back."

"Yes, I understand that."

"Little Macarons used to always sneak into meetings—she once managed to hide in the air vent!—because it was 'fun', even when we discussed the rebel attacks. Not even Muffin did that…"

"… Macarons? Muffin?"

"Victoria, and Xander. I'm sorry. It's a… rather strange habit in the family."

"Food nicknames?" the woman chuckled. "That's adorable, Your Majesty."

"It is, until your mother calls you Cucumber in public, Miss Blanchard."

"Cucumber?" Miss Blanchard—so she was Kate's mother, then?—laughed. "Adorable as well, I'm afraid. What about the others?"

"Ernest would be Sandwich; Sophia is Cupcake and Louis is Baguette. Lys—she was Tomato, because of the way she blushed." He chuckled. "As I said, a strange family tradition, Lillian."

He chuckled. He smiled. There was something else but that damned emptiness in his face. Helena froze. She hadn't seen her son like this for _so long_. Even Lysandre hadn't managed to make him smile as much ever since Victoria had been gone—and she had been the only one to take away some stress of his shoulders—but now… This was impossible.

Unheard of.

Lillian smiled. "I see the theme," she pointed out.

This evening was turning around _quite a bit_.

Especially when Adrian briefly appeared to address the guests. Even if it was in silence, with merely no conversation to anyone—not even her or his children—it was more than the _Nothing_ he had given his country for the past months. How curious.

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **Thanks Abi to beta-ing this so quickly! 3**

 **Again, still, if you're still reading, let me know in any way, so I know how the elimination can go~ :)**


	27. Chapter 26

**Fallout**

 _Victoria remembers childhood holidays in Clermont when visiting Sophia's office. They talk about the ball, and Sophia hints on her true feelings. At the ball, where she is quite unhappy regarding Ernest's behaviour, she ends up dealing with Rosy who has been targeted by a journalist, as well as Leila's mother, a family friend. Xander figures that Isla has also spoken to the journalist, and discovers a new perspective regarding the Sumner rebuilding project, and also talks to the shy Tessa and her friend Cilla, as well as Jaira and Anastasia. Helena discovers that Ernest has been hiding a few things, including being friends with Nereida's family and his side job as playwright, learns that Nereida, a Five, may not be as bad as she thought her to be, being the daughter of a former protege of hers, and notices Adrian, the King, talking to a young woman unknown to her-Lillian Blanchard, Kate's mother._

 **Chapter 26**

»Soldiers follow orders without questioning them«

 **Ernest's office in the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Prince Ernest of Illéa**

Ernest envied round about everyone.

While almost everyone in the palace was able to sleep in, Ernest was sitting in his office, reviewing the final outline of the _Report_. Even when it was only due on Thursday evening, the amount of time he had for the Selection was difficult to handle.

Partwise because he was terribly biased.

He glanced at the script—no focus on any Selected except the brief introductions they had filmed a few days ago. But even like this, it wasn't going to allow him to make Nereida look like the incredible, beautiful, amazing, fun person she was. They'd just see her chatting about her family and home.

Important, but it didn't convey that certain _it_. He'd need to give her a script. Good to know that he had _some_ experience in scriptwriting.

If he only was able to convince Sophia to let him mess with whom she'd take to the shelter later on... Maybe he could talk Xander into taking Nereida onto the first date, so she'd get the exposure first? Yes, it'd be terribly awkward, but Nereida would cope.

Hopefully.

"She gets along with most people?" Ernest hoped. He grabbed his pen and made another note. Maybe they could also film a bit of their lessons? Do something Princess Diaries type? Yes, he had seen the movie (research and what not). It would help to convince the "fairytale princess modern romance thingy" theme Sophia wanted so badly ."Thinking of that," he glanced at the space reserved for it, "it's going to look _so_ off without Xander being around." He should be around at that charity thing. Lessons were excusable, but this? Even if it didn't count as a date or anything, it could be a Selection event and better than nothing. However, _no_ , he had work to do. Understandable, but annoying. "My dear, I'm starting to get Jonathan…" And that was definitely wrong.

He glanced at the old papers he had pulled out of the archives—summaries of the Reports from his father's Selection. It was during the times where Gregory Illéa's 'the Report is live' tradition was still a thing. A terrible idea, in his opinion. It wasn't even scripted—who did that? He knew his family, and he trusted none of them with improvisation in any way...

"Knock, knock," someone—Helena—spoke. Ernest looked up to find the Queen Mother in the door frame, now coming in and taking a seat. Why was she here? Because of yesterday and the ball? Ernest rolled his eyes. No, thanks, he did not need to deal with this again.

"I'm quite curious about something, darling," she begun.

"I swear to you; I did not sleep with the—"

"Oh no, no that."

Ernest dropped the pencil. "What? What else?"

"What is with the 'script' that Carson Statten mentioned to me? The one you were writing? And plays?" Ernest froze. _Nononononono_ she did not know. No, she didn't. And even if—he wouldn't admit that. That was embarrassing, first of all and— "While I might not be as well versed in the theatrical arts as your mother was, I do know who Oscar Wilde is."

"Yeah…? Some Victorian English playwright I used to fanboy when I was… fourteen, maybe?"

"Yes, and his most famous play is what your mother named you after— _The Importance of Being Earnest_. I'd like to remind you of that, darling."

Ernest frowned. "You do know that the whole thing is satire of the wealthy? That the Ernest in the play is the opposite of earnest?"

"That doesn't matter. I do see the connection between you, that Oscar Wilde and the Oscar Wilde playwright that was active in Bonita for time frame that matches quite a bit with your stay."

"Oh, uh, really? What a coincidence." Sometimes he wished he had inherited his mother's acting skills. He hadn't, unfortunately.

"Ernest, Carson Statten mentioned that you were writing a script. There was a playwright with that name. Do tell me the truth."

Ernest groaned. "I just—just wrote some stuff, who cares?"

"Jonathan, probably."

"Yeah, I know."

"Tell me the whole story, please."

 _Hahahaha, bold of you to assume I'd want to._ "I… I really don't want to, grandmother."

"That wasn't a request."

Issues if you lived in an absolute monarchy. "I just came to write some scripts and they were played in the theatre of some random coastal city. What's the issue?"

"You've never mentioned that, and you tend to hide more worrisome subjects when you avoid telling us."

"You sound like Jonathan." He glanced aside.

"Does that matter?"

"You hate Jonathan."

"Again, does that matter?"

"Why do you care? I promise, there's nothing else to it." Well, except that beautiful, charming ballet dancer he met in the process, which considering their relationship probably counted as 'more worrisome subjects', but details.

"I'm just quite worried, as we've both seen what your mother led to—"

"Yes, mum did not deal well with the public. Common knowledge. How is that related to my plays? Do you even know what they're about?"

Helena frowned. _She did not. Do your research._ "I am just quite worried about you doing the same mistakes as she did."

Did she have to talk about a dead woman like this? Ernest frowned. She didn't know his mother—not in the way he did. Not in the way of sitting and reading through plays all the time, talking about how you would set them on the stage. Not in the way of going to the movies behind the public's eye and figuring out how you would place it on the theatre stage. Lysandre had missed the theatre, even back then when she had been an up-and-coming movie actress.

Sweet times. He messed them up, because he had to go out and party with friends… Why even? He couldn't say. Because it was fun, and because he could? Because he was one of these rich kids that were exactly the opposite of earnest? Probably.

Maybe Jonathan had been right.

"Look, grandma. Supporting artists is your thing, isn't it? That's why you do the tours and all," Ernest turned around on his desk chair, moving his hands through the air, "Support meeeeee!" He half-smiled, unsure whenever this would end in a speech by Jonathan, Helena or everyone he was related to, except maybe Vic, because Vic was a sweetheart.

Helena sighed. "Is that all? You wrote about two plays?"

"Uh, kind of? I just want to write my plays…"

"And?"

"That's it," Ernest began, before shaking his head, "okay, maybe, it isn't."

Helena rose her eyebrows. "What else."

RIP Ernest Illéa. Jonathan was going to kill him for this, but he didn't exactly have a choice now, didn't he? Man, the 'bad choices' (a term he did not agree with) were meant to be a thing of the past… "Tiny."

"Tiny?"

Ernest shook his head. "What? No, I mean—that's—no. I mean, Nereida. Look, I mean—"

"What's with the Statten girl?"

Maybe he did have a shot for it after all. "We've been dating for a while. Like, as in, years."

"Ernest—"

"There! There you go! I have not slept with another girl than—"

"Ernest, I do not need detailed information on your private relationships."

"You kind of asked…" Ernest pointed out.

"So, you claim that you have been in a relationship with Statten for more than—"

"Grandma, is it so difficult for you to believe that I have a girlfriend?" he deadpanned. "I can tell you details, if you really want, but—"

"No, no thank you." Helena sighed.

"So, here you go—the only thing that I want is for you to not essentially tell anyone about my crappy plays, and Nereida."

"Why in the world would you not want people to know of that? What do you plan to happen?"

Ernest shrugged. "Jonathan wants me to settle down? You know why I agreed to that proposal? Nereida. I knew I could smuggle her into the Selection. You all want me to 'settle down'? Deal, will do so. That was my plan when we were in Bonita too. Let me do that. I love Nereida, and she's all I want. Just let me do it on my terms, because—"

"And why are you not telling them?"

"Jonathan literally destroyed my life once already, and we both know he doesn't like me. I'm not risking that again. He took me away from all my friends—some of them even believed I was _dead_ —and threw me into some random coastal town in _Bonita_. I did not have contact with anyone in my family for years—for all I knew, Louis and Sophia could have been dead because nobody allowed me to communicate with them—and if I told him 'Hey, I happen to have a hobby', he'd probably tell me to stop because 'security concerns'. What'll happen if I tell him I have a serious girlfriend? I'm assuming, the same. I just need to breathe and nowadays, he assumes I'm doing something bad."

Maybe the last part was a bit of an overreaction. It felt like that, at least.

"That's true."

"What?"

"Xander, Jonathan and I discussed this. It'd be beneficial for the monarchies' reputation for you to marry of woman of high status, and for Louis to do the opposite," Helena spoke, as boring as Umbridge in history.

" _What?_ "

Helena frowned. "Nereida is a Five, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she's a dancer. Mainly ballet, but she's been a dancer in some musical and that one physical drama play I co-wrote..."

Wait, this wasn't a discussion about Nereida being fit for the whole One job, was it? Ernest narrowed his eyes. He knew his grandmother. He knew her well. Her Queen's Project—something that was meant to represent the Selection winner's ambitions once she became a One—focused merely on artists. In theory, everyone. Legally, only Fives and the occasional writer. She avoided Twos on purpose.

"Her art is underappreciated," he remarked. "She's an amazing dancer—not only ballet, but also all the other kinds of dance she studied. I'm still surprised when I see her doing her daily exercises."

"I really misunderstood her," Helena admitted.

"Misunderstood?"

"I didn't think she would be up to anything when she didn't recognise Sophia."

"Honestly," Ernest laughed, "that's part of her charm."

"It might be indeed," Helena smiled. One of these smiles—the one she gave when things were going her way. The way she grinned, the way her eyes glittered. "I must admit, it'd be wrong for me to break up such an adorable romance, wouldn't it?"

Ernest chose to play, even if he wasn't a player. Not in these games, not anymore. "Exactly."

"You do need to hurry though—Jonathan has been looking at the girls already."

"Nereida's family might be doing well for Fives, but that doesn't mean she could pass as upper class."

"Then we should make the upper class like her," Helena replied. "I'm quite sure that your current work will help you with that. I'll see how I can help her." She too had managed to trick the upper classes into thinking of her to be a lady—if only a little bit.

"Except that I have no idea how to."

"We'll figure it out."

/ / /

 **Meeting room in the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Sophia of Illéa**

Ernest began by noting something about the _Report_. Details. Sophia had some great new ideas that would put things into place and present to Illéa the pretty little commoners. And Veira, yeah, but they probably knew her from Instagram.

Her father wasn't present. Of course, he wasn't. Xander wasn't either. It was just Jonathan, Helena, herself and Ernest, looming over thirty-five hopeful girls. Louis too, but he didn't say a word. Maybe he was reading under the table. The meeting wasn't going to start without Xander, but Sophia was happy to present him a reasoned list of ten fit eliminations.

She was proud to say that she did a very good job at organising the Selection.

"and—" Jonathan stopped mid-sentence (a sentence Sophia hadn't listened to), interrupted by Ernest.

"I get that you feel the need to correct every single word I say, but please slow down—or write it down—because I can't follow," he hissed.

Helena leaned back. "I like the outline. Of course, we'll need to talk to the _Report_ staff about it, but it looks quite good. Unless the videos don't fit visually, I don't see an issue."

"We'd need to see the videos, yes," Jonathan deadpanned.

"Now, please, please don't fight," Sophia hummed. "We can discuss this issue later, can we not?"

"This is the meeting for it," Louis pointed out, quiet.

"What do you think of the girls?"

"I have talked to two."

"Who?" Sophia hummed.

"Lady Veira and Lady Harriet."

Oh. She frowned. " _How sweet_." Right. _That_ was an issue as well.

Jonathan sighed. "You should get out of your comfort zone."

"I do agree," Sophia chirped in quickly.

Louis sighed. "Well, before—"

The door opened _. Xander, finally_ , she thought. Except, it wasn't him—not at least who opened the door. It was her father, hence the sudden silence and surprise in the Illéa family's faces. What was he doing here? Since when was he interested in the whole event?

"Exactly, yes," her father, King Adrian of Illéa, said to someone behind him. Sophia recognised her brother.

The two took a seat, protocol and what not playing the way it always did, and Xander nodded to a few (quickly, ugly) notes. "Shall we begin?" he asked.

Nobody dared to question why Adrian suddenly appeared. Sophia eyed Louis, he returned the glance. Ernest's confusion, too, was written on his face. Only Helena smiled fondly.

"We could go one way or the other, but there's one girl that I'd see fit to be out for sure."

Jonathan frowned. "Who?"

"Nereida Statten."

"What—" Ernest began, but Helena waved him off.

"Look at her—absolutely inadequate for the Selection! Have you seen her? She's all happy, not serious at all, and behaves like she lives in a fairy tale."

Now, Sophia frowned. "That is exactly what we want to convey! A fairy tale in reality!"

"And we all can appreciate the light-heartedness of Lady Nereida," Jonathan added. He pulled out one file. "Not to mention that their tutors all pointed out exceptional dedication. Even if she's a bit… light-headed… she certainly shows determination."

Louis glanced at the copy. "Are you sure, grandmother, that you don't just want another Five around?" she questioned.

At this point, Sophia probably should have understood the game, Helena was playing. She didn't.

"I say she stays," Jonathan began.

"I do too," Louis—Louis Illéa out of all people—voted too.

"Exactly," Sophia crossed her arms. "Ernest?"

"I know her family," Ernest admitted. "Lovely people. I'm biased. I'll refrain from voting."

He knew her family, huh? Maybe he just spoke to them on the ball—yes, that had to be it. Sophia smiled. Yes, Nereida Statten—she knew _that_ girl—was not at all able to win. She wouldn't need to worry about _her_.

"I would also say that Lady Minerva and Lady Irina are good fits," she continued. Except both had showed signs of PTSD which you really didn't want in a Queen. "Oh, and Lady Enobyschmedward has shown great potential. She's quite creative." She also dressed as sloth, so another no-no.

The conversation flowed on and on, picking on every girl, and finding reasons to let go of every girl, and reasons to keep every girl. Barely once, they agreed on one Selected to stay, and barely once, they agreed on one Selected to leave.

When the pile in front of Ernest, whose opinion swayed to 'I don't know; I doubt I'm fit to make a decision' grew, it became clear that he was not involved. Good, Sophia thought. One less person to deal with. Twice, Louis and Sophia tried to convince him to make a vote—they needed a deciding vote—and twice, Ernest replied with words that could have been Jonathan's. Maybe they were. Maybe Ernest and his evident lack of care had been influenced by Jonathan already.

Jonathan also didn't seem to catch onto the sarcasm.

"I-TEC already has too much power," Jonathan ended his speech on why Anastasia Collins, Jaira Phillips and Minerva Whitefield (who, as of now, was staying) should leave. "They're active in medicine, weapon development, research… We can't give them more. If even, we should decrease it."

"Out, I agree," Louis added. "Power to the people."

Neither Xander nor Adrian had said a word since their arrival. From time to time, Sophia had noticed her brother scribbling notes down, but between all thirty-five girls, not once, her father seemed to move. No wonder he always won at poker.

"Are you finished?" he came to inquire, his voice nonchalant; as if they discussed tea.

"As of now, I believe, we would need to change the numbers a bit. We tend a bit too much to elimination…"

Adrian turned to Xander, and her brother nodded. "You _were_ right."

Right about what? Sophia placed the pink pen onto her notes. Eye contact with Louis was made; his expression hadn't changed from the discontent of the decision for Lady Minerva to stay. Whenever he had his own favourites or not, his points were merely focused on public images and balance of power, not own preferences—he didn't exactly have ambitions like she did, did he?

More importantly though—what had Adrian and Xander discussed?

Adrian nodded, still not saying a word. Unlike anyone else, he hadn't taken any notes, hadn't looked at the files or done anything, really. Had he been like this in government meetings as well? How was Victoria interested in them if Adrian wasn't?

It seemed as if the King had read her mind. Wordless, he took one of the spare pens and a piece of paper; he began writing something down. Without her heels, and at the distance of the table, she couldn't read what he wrote without looking too obvious. Louis, too, began writing.

"I do very much appreciate your advice," Xander began, "but this is my decision alone."

"The I-TEC situation—"

"Both Lady Minerva and Lady Anastasia have expressed interest in starting their own company; I doubt they're _that_ dedicated to I-TEC. I wouldn't want to eliminate someone merely based on their employer either way; some had no choice in that."

"And what about—" Sophia began.

"That was only an example. I do not intend to go onto every single girl and explain why I do not agree with your reasons. I have written down my own notes beforehand, and merely wish to hear if you have any non-speculative reasoning. A possible imbalance of power towards a company, for example, does not count."

"Such as?" Louis asked.

"I am aware that two Selected have expressed to staff, me or other Selected that they did not submit an application on their own will. I do know that one of them quickly changed her mind and insisted on coming, which is why I do not—"

"Who?" Ernest leaned forward.

"That's not important."

Was it Leila? She really didn't seem all that happy—but then again, nor did others, and the Leila _she_ knew—the one of before the Unrest—would have participated. Not that much could have happened, couldn't it?

Xander himself took a piece of paper and began writing down a name. A Selected. Nods. She hadn't been that dedicated in class or that interested during the Report; her background wasn't that interesting for Jonathan and Louis viewed her as 'just another lower caste girl'.

But that was exactly why Sophia wanted her to stay.

"Any reasons why she shouldn't leave?" Xander asked.

None. She didn't want to stay—saying that she should would be frivolous; the press disaster that could come was on pair with Louis. But Sophia _wanted_ her to stay.

"I assume that she has signed up for the sake of the financial compensation," Sophia began. "If her family needs the money so badly, then we might be taking away the income of a whole family—we don't know her situation!"

Sophia didn't even know what province she was from. Details. A nameless background character. She didn't need to be more—not for her. Not now, at least.

"She's a Three now." Louis' response was a shrug. "Look at Abby—she was a nobody before the Selected and now she's the music legend of a generation."

"Are you implying that Abby's music is bad?" Adrian asked, frowning.

"Yes," Helena and Louis replied in unison. Ernest nodded too.

It was no secret that the King and Queen of Illéa were found of Abby Moon's music. It was also no secret that Sophia's generation thought it was something for their parents. It was no surprise that classic-or-nothing Helena didn't like her either. Poor Abby.

"As much as it aches my poor, weakened heart," Ernest began with a dramatic gesture, "Louis is right. She's gonna be alright."

They continued, in less detail, because at least three other girls definitely only signed up because they wanted the fame—they had that now, and Sophia lost four more of her preferred 'stay' candidates.

She tried, twice, to suggest girls that absolutely had to leave, but Xander waves her off—he was talking.

"What about Harriet? There have been a few voices pointing out her step-mother's—"

"Sophia, please," Xander sighed. "You've had your chance to talk before—let me go through this. I've listened to your worries about her step-mother. We can see how things play out, but again, I will not let someone go because of things they can't control."

"They can't control if you don't like them," Ernest pointed out.

"That's different," Adrian replied. Again, a rare comment.

By the end of the meeting, Sophia was happy to see five of her list eliminated after all—she should have done these little twists on her reports much earlier—but after one more try to stopping the elimination of a great candidate, Xander seemed to stop listening to her entirely. One he only eliminated (or so it felt) because Sophia wanted her to stay. Was that resentment?

The meeting ended.

"When is the next elimination?" Sophia asked.

"Whenever it's fit," Xander replied, disinterested and already half in a discussion about Paloma and the efforts there.

' _Whenever it's fit_ ' was not the answer Sophia liked to have. Xander couldn't let anyone go until the Savoy's visit—it'd be unfair to their teams—but that didn't mean that he couldn't eliminate them in his mind.

Then again, Sophia knew his workload. There was no way he'd have time to meet with twenty-five girls one-on-one.

"Thinking of the workload," she muttered when most—all but Louis—had left the room. "Why was dad even here? He didn't say a lot." To just sit around and write one note? Probably better than grieving his wife all day but…

Louis huffed. "Because he knows politics, Sophy."

"Hmm?" Sophia turned around to her brother. "What do you mean? The Selection is about love, not politics."

"And that's why the I-TEC argument is totally invalid," Louis laughed. "Sophia, politics and law-making go together, but they're not the same thing. Politics is a bit more."

"And…?"

"If you can decide who of these thirty-five becomes Queen, you can change Illéa's future." He pointed to his own notes. "Everyone in the room has their own goals in this. I suspect that dad warned Xander, but came to make sure that he won't overlook that."

"Overlook our goals…?"

"Xander is a soldier. Soldiers follow orders without questioning them. Have you ever seen Xander questioning advice of someone if it's not contested? Have you ever seen him dealing with contesting advice?"

"No…"

"He's terrible at it. I'm fairly sure he's about to set the reconstruction in Sumner on ice until he figures out whenever Lady Isla wasn't right with her thoughts about the reconstruction."

"Which means…?"

"He's too easy to influence, and dad knows that. He came to stop that from happening," Louis replied.

"But—why? What do you mean? What goals?"

Louis handed her the notes.

 _Jonathan—short-term focus on cleaning up Unrest, lack of insight into girls themselves, no personal attachment shown_

 _Helena—focused on Fives & lower castes, avoidant of girls that might upstage her_

 _Ernest—doesn't seem to care_

 _Louis—no personal attachment, focus on usability over personal interest, against girls who are in the Selection for their own gain / lower castes?_

 _Sophia—? Against everyone who might be interested in you?_

"What's that?"

"What dad wrote down. I followed the way he moved his pen and connected the dots."

 _Dad knows_ , she realised. He'd definitely want to talk to her—he or Xander would, and she'd demand an explanation. Of course, there was always her 'fairy tale love story', but at this stage, she couldn't guarantee that they'd believe that…

"But why would he write that down?" She tried to sound innocent. She had to.

"Read Game of Thrones, that might help you."

Sophia couldn't tell if he was joking or serious. "Is there a movie?"

"The TV show is crap. Read the books."

/ / /

 **The Women's Room in the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Harriet Tailor**

Quite a few girls were rather tired. Quite a few girls also assumed that Veira was asleep forever. She probably was, but even asleep, she looked pretty. Harriet needed to check with her on hairstyling tips… Was she using a particular brand of hair spray? Harriet's own maid wasn't exactly the best in it.

Talking about brands, she still hadn't understood how the palace was going to deal with clothes. Being the Selection encyclopaedia she was, she knew that during the King's Selection, the girls had been dressed by the palace only.

There wasn't exactly a pattern right now—except one that she wasn't too sure about. It needed more theorising, a greater pool of evidence. They wore palace-supplied clothes when something with cameras or so came up.

They didn't right now. Maybe yesterday was enough of cameras, but what about dates? That was what the Selection was about!

Maybe, Harriet thought, she shouldn't have gone for the Rolex watch or the Gucci diamond necklace. The palace did give them jewellery, but on a closer look, it turned out to be fake. Not that that didn't make sense; Harriet knew how much her own clothes' price tag was, and multiplying that by thirty-five… She couldn't help but be a bit salty though.

How could she get her hands on more jewellery? Were there brand endorsements? She knew that even the Selected that left early had become quite the influencers during their time… Brand deals and endorsement? Would that be a thing? Surprisingly, she didn't know.

"Hey, do you think we could get brand deals?" she wondered out loud, in the middle of Umbridge's lecture on dealing with the media and what not. Going by that, she expected something similar to come up—maybe some form of public work?

"Brand deals? Like athletes?" Ami asked, ignoring Umbridge as well.

"Yeah," Harriet nodded. "I mean, financing the whole Selection would be expensive; wouldn't that be the perfect way to deal with clothes? Have you looked online? People are raving over our clothes!"

Veira woke up from her everlasting nap. "Clothes? What? Gimme!"

"Right—we should take a look online and see what everyone is saying," Zarah agreed. "There's a projector, isn't it? Can we use it, miss?"

"… Ladies, this is a lesson and not a gossip round. Please do pay attention and—" Too late, Zarah had jumped up and gone over to the projector.

"Where do we go first?"

"There's a Selection sub-reddit?" Harriet suggested. "I'm sure that'll be a nice start."

Zarah grabbed Umbridge's laptop and began typing; chatter erupted in the class and Veira leaned over to Harriet as well. "What was with clothes?"

"We were talking about brand deals."

"Oooh," Veira nodded fascinated, "that's what poor people do when they can't afford clothes, isn't it?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Are you kidding me?!" Alex called out. "Veira, what?"

Umbridge chimed in. "It's Lady Veira, Lady Alessandra."

"'What poor people do'—that's offensive, you know."

"I'm—" Veira begun.

"What, jealous?" Harriet dared.

"You don't even have friends," Alex laughed.

Harried _glared_. "I do." She pointed to Veira, who probably (she wasn't looking) was napping again.

She wasn't, but details. "My dad probably makes more than yours," Alex shot back. "But really? Harriet, some people here just can't afford Gucci, and newsflash—they don't need to. You can survive without it."

"How do you survive without—" Veira began, again.

"Really not the time," Leila chirped in.

Umbridge continued to try and calm the girls down, but honestly, they were, essentially, a bunch of teenage-ish girls now talking about clothes and popularity, so what was she expecting? Harriet glanced to Leila and Alex—should she waste her time in dealing with them? She was a lady of high class, but so were these two…

"I agree with Lady Alessandra," Rowan pointed out. "You're being ridiculous."

"But the brand deal idea _is_ good," Minnie remarked. "She's right."

Harriet grinned triumphantly. "See?"

"I couldn't care less about your stupid brand deals; the issue is that you seem to think that money rules the world."

"It kinda' does," Harriet replied. "I mean—"

"And that having money makes you a good person; who cares about what you wear?"

"The public, evidently," Zarah pointed out. She pointed to the screen where said subreddit was opened now, where the first thread posted was a 'Best Dressed' list. Quite a few girls nudged her to open it; Umbridge still complained.

What was she gonna do? Send the guards onto the girls? One of them was the future queen!

On the top of the list was Veira, Harriet noticed, followed by herself. Leila and Alex weren't even mentioned in the top then, so both of them got one smug smile. The list went on, mentioning names from all over the place (and questioning why Sloth Girl wasn't Sloth Girl), until someone spoke up.

"We don't get to chose the clothes we were wearing—they might be based on what we like, but we didn't get to choose, and this is how they judge us? By our clothes?" Harriet turned around, to see Jaira frowning. She was somewhere in the middle of that list—maybe jealous?

"You didn't get to choose?" Veira asked, surprised. "I did—that's my dress, definitely."

Harriet tilted her head. "Yeah—the dress didn't come from me, but I would have gotten that style. The jewellery is mine though."

Alex frowned. "Everyone's meant to be a Three now, but still, only some of us can afford that stuff. That isn't fair."

"If you judge people by their clothes, yeah, it isn't," Harriet replied.

"Which you do."

"I just said that—" Harriet groaned. What had she done to her? She only had commented on brand deals—everyone could get them!

"I agree with Alex here," Zarah called out.

"We could wear the same thing next time—everyone does the same dress, accessories, makeup and hairdo, I mean," Harriet suggested with a sigh. It'd be a bit off, but if they all did the same thing—all thirty-five—it'd look coordinated and good, she hoped. "

"Then we're back to 'not everyone can afford Gucci', Harriet," Alex deadpanned.

"So, what if we all just request the same outfit for the next semi-important event? They can't have us wear the same thing twice—that's not a thing, not in public. And if it's such an issue, we all could make the deal that we only wear what the palace gives us—in public at least. Didn't they say that bringing in clothes is low-key a security issue either way?"

Alex leaned back, evidently trying to look for a point. Harriet crossed her arms, annoyed. She loved fashion—expressing herself in it and the beauty of it—but if Alex had to be spoon-fed whatever she wanted…

"If everyone does that, yeah, that'd be fairer."

Leila nodded, and stood up. "Does anyone here have objections against that?"

Veira opened her mouth—understandably (they were given like, what? Three outfits for this week?)—but Harriet nudged her to be quiet. No one else said anything either, and so, Leila smiled. "Then that's decided. In group events with cameras present, we only wear clothes given to us by the palace. We'll try to do that everyone-wears-the-same-thing soon."

"What about dates?" Someone—Kate—asked. "Wouldn't it be incredible to wear a pink, flowing gown smelling like roses—"

"I think it'd be alright not to," Harriet commented. "The Selection is about love, and if you think you need to dress to impress, then you're at the wrong competition. Illéa's Next Top Model is around the corner in Hollywood."

Alex opened her mouth, but Leila nodded. "Hate to admit it, but true. Any oppositions?"

"Yes—people do judge by others' appearance, no matter how much they don't want to," Isla frowned.

"Well, sorry to break it to you," Harriet leaned over her chair, "but we're past first impressions. We had that shot yesterday."

"Good point," Isla nodded. How polite of her—she knew when to give in, _unlike a certain other girl…_

"Hey, there's a master ranking," Zarah pointed out. The attention shifted back to the screen, where Zarah had opened another website (evidently dedicated to the Selection), that was listing a popularity ranking. Harriet frowned.

She was not in the top five.

"Isla! Yay!" Ami called out cheerful—Isla had taken the first spot, closely followed by Rie and Nereida.

"Seems like that interview with the journalist went really well," Zarah complimented. Journalist? What? They had been able to talk to the public? Wasn't there a rule about exactly not doing that?

Isla smiled. "I was just being honest." People apparently liked that?

Harriet skimmed through the list. Rie was given, just as much as Irina and Minnie. Soldiers—Illéa's central states were ridiculously attached to their military forces. Nereida, on the other hand, was a surprise. Wasn't she the girl who didn't know the royal family?

While the girls went through the list (with Harriet, unhappily, discovering she was only placed 16th—not even in the elite!), she did notice Umbridge speaking to a footman, who in return (what about guys not being allowed again?) quietly whispered something into a bunch of girls' ears.

All of them happily jumped up and left the room. All ten of them.

"What's happening there?" Veira wondered.

"I wouldn't know…" Harriet replied, and leaned over to Andreia and Irina. "Do you know what's up with them?"

"The girls that are leaving?" Irina shook her head. "No, but they all look pretty happy."

One of them—Czechaslovakia Actor—stopped at Harriet. "The prince wants to talk to us," she grinned. Oh great.

"But ten is too many for a date, is it?"

"I'd think so," Andreia replied.

Harriet turned to Veira; the blonde was staring into the void. "Veira? What do you think?"

"Hmm?"

"About the girls?"

"Which girls? Nereida's dress looked really pretty—like something Sophy would wear," she hummed.

"The girls leaving right now," Harriet explained.

"Hmm…" Veira yawned politely. "Maybe it's the philanthropy event that Sophy was planning?"

"Philanthropy event?" Irina asked, curious. "Mind to tell us more?"

"We're probably not meant to though—"

Harriet shrugged. "Then she shouldn't have told Veira."

"She just mentioned it once—I don't know much else, sorry," she replied. Veira leaned back. "I'm gonna nap…"

"How does she even sleep that much?" Alex, from the other side, frowned. Veira's response was inaudible.

Harriet looked up, to find Zarah and a bunch of other girls still looking at the website. Umbridge had, evidently, given up on today's lessons, but to be absolutely fair, they totally had a reason, didn't they?

For a while, the girls' continued to gossip, until Umbridge finally gained their attention again. "Ladies, please do come to the Grand Hall."

/ / /

 **The Grand Hall of the Illéa Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

Explaining the elimination to ten ladies that he had barely even met was easy.

There was no emotional connection; they were strangers and it was easy to go back into the 'sorry but that's life' mode he had fallen into all too often. Just like a press conference. Nothing difficult.

Ten out.

Ten less to deal with.

"Then the visit of Aunt Amelie?" Sophia looked to Xander. The eliminated girls had left. Abby was organising their departure, leaving the siblings alone to handle this. "Umbridge will go into details after the _Report_ is filmed, but—"

"The _Report_ is filmed?"

"I mean, yes, we have the clips of the party, but I was thinking of something more formal? I haven't spoken to Ernest yet, but—"

"Sophia, before you plan something with that, _please_ talk to Ernest. He mentioned that he had the outlines earlier—do you remember?"

"Uh…" Not really, no. Xander could end that sentence for her.

Xander turned around to her. "What was that yesterday, by the way?"

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

"The ball—weren't you meant to coordinate for the Selecteds' families to visit?"

"Uh…"

"What happened?"

Sophia looked aside, stepping away from him. She tilted her head, thinking, but didn't respond. A footman arrived, inquiring about whenever the remaining Selected should join in now (they were meant to), but Xander asked for a moment. Sophia wasn't answering; she was only twirling with her hair.

"Sophia?"

"I must have forgotten," she eventually replied, in her typical sing-song. "There was _so much_ to deal with…"

"You have a team to work with."

"I know, I know… I'll do better next time. We're in the Selection now, officially, and it'll be fine."

Xander sighed. "Alright. I want you to remind me to discuss the outlines later, alright? Talk to my office—have a meeting organised."

"Sure," Sophia hummed. She'd forget it, but Xander didn't think of that. Vaguely, he remembered that he had another meeting planned, but by no means, he remembered what. His secretary would know. Definitely.

"Please invite the Selected," Xander asked the footman.

The girls, chatting, arrived, and Sophia smiled at them as if they were a bunch of small kitten. Fortunately, they weren't. That'd be awkward. One more time, Xander glanced at Sophia. This was only one little mess up—nothing to be concerned with, wasn't it? It was fine. Nothing he needed to be concerned about.

Before either of the siblings could say a word, one girl—Xander didn't catch who—asked about the girls. A few more girls chirmed in. Twenty-five. Xander shuddered again, hopefully less obvious. One of these girls was meant to marry him. Marry him. How. In. The. World. Did. That. Work.

There was no way that he'd meet someone that was what his mother had been to their father.

Maybe it had been wrong to let the other girls go?

"They have been asked to leave," Sophia sing-sung. "The Selection is quite expensive, and it would be unfair to have them stay here without any real chance."

Xander nodded. Exactly. She had a point. They had gone through all girls, read how they had done in the past month and yet—what did that mean? His father had, evidently, not looked at that, but he had been happy. _Happy_.

"Which, as an obvious conclusion, means that you are not," Sophia continued, not letting Xander say a word. Good. He wasn't listening. "Apologies for interrupting the lesson, but we would like to discuss what will happen in a few weeks."

Right. The Savoys. Italy. "As you might know, our aunt is married to the Italian King Carlos the fourth. They, alongside their two sons, will be visiting us in a few weeks' time, as it is common tradition for the Selection to include various forms of foreign visits," Xander explained. "This is much more of a private visit rather than politics though."

"However, Amelie and I were discussing that it would be a fantastic idea for us to involve you into the planning of the visit. I'm sure it'll be a great exercise for everyone, which is why we agreed onto an outline. Your tutors will discuss further details, as well as the groups, with you tomorrow. I'm looking forward to the results."

That was all. Details were being written down right now.

Someone asked a question, Sophia replied. Xander frowned—would Sophia get the documents on time? He needed to check on that, definitely.

"That would be all, thank you," Sophia hummed. That was all. The girls returned to the Women's Room. Xander didn't like that room—bad memories of his grandmother and mother fighting. Vic never liked it either. He barely remembered her setting a foot into it, ever.

The girls left. Good. Sophia left. Good. Hopefully she'd finish the outlines.

"You still look like an awkward muffin," Evan commented from the side with a smirk. He was leaning against the wall, still in uniform. Until now, the guard had remained in the shadows, politely waiting like all the other ones. Nothing indicated that he wasn't on duty. Maybe Irina had noticed, but no one else had, definitely.

"Why did I ask you to come again?" Xander punched his friend and laughed. It was a legitimate question—he trusted Evan and it probably would have been better to have him around Victoria, but then again, he hadn't seen her since yesterday. Emotional support—nah, Xander didn't need that.

Maybe Tori knew what was going on? He'd need to ask her.

He needed to look at Sophia's proposed plan for the next weeks too—it was meant to be set in motion on Sunday, wasn't it? He frowned. There were reconstruction efforts to be dealt with—they were more important than a bunch of girls.

He shuddered.

"Are you alright?" Evan asked.

"Yes, of course. Can you head back to Victoria? I trust whoever you had cover you, but…"

"Sure." Evan knew that Victoria was a difficult case. "Will do. See you around?"

Xander nodded, his mind already gone. The comments of Isla Woodley made him think—maybe they were tackling things wrong? The option of rebuilding had been considered, but starting from nothing on allowed them to begin with modern technology, chose places and organise easier. Make places safer in case of another 'issue' arising.

Yet, these now-ruined-cities had been people's homes. Could he imagine leaving the Illéa Palace in ruins and moving on? In some ways, yes, because it was ridiculous to have thirty-five rooms left empty, but these halls were his childhood. He glanced up to the ceiling of the hallway, looking at the carefully cleaned marble, the paintings of members of the Illéan royal family, the mosaics and the ornaments… Could he give this up? Wouldn't he want to restore it?

"Your Royal Highness? Excuse me, may I ask you something?" Harriet Tailor's voice stopped him from running into the hallway wall. Surprised, he turned around. The girls weren't meant to arrange times with him on their own—a rule they had taken from previous Selections—and Harriet knew that. Wasn't she Veira's friend?

"If it's brief," Xander chose to reply. He agreed with the rule, not because it allowed him to avoid the girls if he wanted (Okay. Maybe.) but because he had to deal with the issues in Midston.

Harriet folded her hands. "It's just a suggestion, sir. It probably could lead to more, but I was wondering if it was possible to acquire brand deals?"

Brand what? What in the world was that? "Pardon?"

"Brand deals—like sports teams do, for example."

"Apologies, I don't follow professional sports a lot. Would you mind explaining?" If it didn't take too long—he really needed to get going with work. Enough time spend on girls.

"Well, nor do I, but essentially, there are brands that pay and sponsor teams, celebrities and influencers, for example, for them to either use their product in public and essentially promote it. We just had a…" she hesitated, "… discussion on how some of us are able to afford clothes of better quality than others do."

Yes, Sophia had brought up that concern. Twice. But he wasn't going to let her spend millions of taxpayer money on clothes. He survived by wearing white shirts (and while he didn't know the exact numbers, it wasn't that much) on a daily basis. The girls could too.

"While I do agree that it probably wouldn't be good to just wear a dress with a McDonalds logo on it and a certain standard should be maintained, I'm sure that there are many designers who would benefit of the exposure a lot. I know that Veira Schreave and I, for example, have contacts to some, and I'm sure we could organise something."

Meaning they'd either get discounts or clothes for free. Xander smiled. He liked this one—efficient thinking and a perfect idea to get down the ridiculous costs of the Selection.

"That sounds like a great idea, Lady Harriet," he replied.

"Thank you!" She smiled proudly. A business woman, definitely. "I'm happy to look into it. The Los Angeles Fashion Week is coming up soon—it'd be a great occasion to look into that."

Xander nodded. "I agree. Please, do suggest it to Sophia's team. It sounds like a great idea to me, and you have my support, but I do not have the time to look more into that." He laughed. Time. A good joke.

Harriet's expression didn't falter. "Thank you for your time then." She curtsied.

She left him—shouldn't she be in a lesson?—without another word, and Xander was thankful for that. One less issue to deal with. Issue—were these girls really an issue? A bit, he believed. He needed to go back to the government, look at the reports and _deal with them_.

The Selection could wait. Definitely.

"Alright. Midston issues. Sumner restorations. Italy. Brand deals," Xander listed to himself.

The instant he was in his office, fortunately, he remembered to write a memo to Abby.

 _Please make sure that Sophia finishes the outline for the Savoy's visit by tomorrow. If she doesn't, you have my full authorisation to take over the event. Please also remind her to look into the brand deals._

Maybe leaving Sophia in charge of the Selection hadn't been such a great idea. His father had, back then, handed the control to a member of Helena's staff—the event organiser. Such a team didn't really exist now—numbers had been decreased in favour of warfare—but it really needed to be put back together. For that though, they needed a queen.

"Maybe, after all, Helena can go back into that." She surely wouldn't refuse, would she?

For the rest of the day, Xander hid behind work.

/ / /

 **Author's Note**

 **/hides/ yes, i may forgot to update last week im sorry im drowning in school work**

 **Big thanks to the lovely Abizeau for beta-ing as always! Do check out her new story,** _ **Give Me Some Space!**_ **that me and a bunch of friends are already hyped about! It's about a space selection, featuring a colourful bunch of character, all with the chance to become the next emperor of the system! :)**

 **Link:** **s/13378480/1/Give-Me-Some-Space-male-and-female-SYOC**

 **Also check out 'In Love and War by EllieKat! It's great writing and we've gotta welcome new faces to the community!**

 **Link: s/13381771/1/In-Love-and-War**


	28. Chapter 27

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Ernest revealed the truth about 'Oscar Wilde', his playwright pseudonym and his relationship to Nereida Statten to the Queen Mother, Helena. Remembering the fact that Jonathan intends Ernest to marry a woman of the upper class, they begin to make a plan for their relationship to work out either way. In a meeting regarding the first elimination, Jonathan, Louis, Ernest, Sophia and Helena all have their own agendas, and Adrian supports Xander in figuring them out. Sophia is surprised, and grows worried that this may interfere with her plans, after Louis reveals that to her. Harriet approaches Xander in regards of the brand deals, after the girls embark into a long discussion in regards of advantages in fashion and wealth. The first elimination happens, although all named girls, including the Sloth Girl, pass. Xander proceeds to inform the girls of their relative's visit, but finds himself questioning how fit Sophia is in her current role..._

 **Chapter 27**

» Would that make Katheryn Blanchard the next Shakespeare? «

 **Illéan Army Training Centre, San Francisco, Angeles  
"Alexander Smith"**

 _2417\. Day one. He'd come to count._

 _The instant he stepped into the hall, he regretted it._

 _Maybe—no, surely—his father had been right, but then again, why would Jonathan have encouraged this? Surely, from the ranks of the generals, he'd make sure that everything was fine and—Xander scanned the recruits. What a gloomy atmosphere. Conscripts? Volunteers? Did they recognise him?_

 _He wasn't sure in any of the cases._

 _Even if none of the siblings had been seen anywhere in the past four years, snippets of Ernest had been found. What stood against him? As he'd soon realise, nobody cared. A sergeant—Xander tried to remember his name, but couldn't—called something out, reminding Xander that he was blocking the entrance._

 _Right._

 _This was different._

 _This wasn't the palace. He wasn't the Crown Prince. Not now. Not if he could avoid it. Xander gave two guys a slight smile when he sat down. One of them, soon, he'd come to call him Jack, watched the others wary. Was he afraid? Had he come of his own will? Xander didn't like not knowing._

 _The other boy was, by all means, a sobbing mess. At first, Xander considered moving—sitting next to the boy he'd come to call his best friend was awkward enough. Then, however, he realised how it would look if he just moved, and chose to sit it out and ignore him._

 _Eventually, he couldn't stand it anymore._

" _Are you alright?" he asked, careful to avoid falling into the upper class accent—Lysandre had spent hours trying to make sure he wouldn't sound like a One. It worked. Thanks, mom._

" _Uh," he hesitated. "I'm afraid."_

" _I think we all are," the other boy added on. "Jack. What about you?"_

" _Evan," he replied. "Sorry—this is just damn scary. We could get killed right now; you know? If the rebels knew that there was a training—"_

" _They don't," Xander interrupted. If there had been any suspicion that there was, he wouldn't have been sent here. Of course, 'Alexander Smith', the alias he was working under, couldn't know that though._

" _How would you know that?" Evan replied. "Sorry, but—I don't see the positive in here."_

" _Nor do I. Nor do I." This war didn't need to happen. If they only gave the_ more time _, they could make it work. No death needed—but they didn't. And here they were. Xander in the middle, because he wanted to help_ somehow _. "Alexander," he added on, wondering if these two would ever learn who he really was._

 _He hoped they'd live to see that day. To see the end._

/ / /

 _Day Three. Xander regretted talking his father into this._

 _Training was harsh, especially when, as he learned, he was, literally, the only volunteer in their group. So much about not attracting attention. In the end of another day of training, he fell onto his bed and was asleep in the next instant—it was only the sudden decision by the drill Sergeant that they'd run laps in the middle of the night that made him wake up again._

 _"Why did you volunteer?" Jack asked, when they were done, sarcastic._

 _"I'm questioning that, too," Xander tried to joke. He wasn't good at that, evidently. Nobody laughed._

 _"My sister did," Evan pointed out. "I got the message on the day I left. I don't know if she was taken, but I doubt she wasn't. They need the forces, you know."_

 _Jack rose an eyebrow. "You don't look frightened."_

 _"Irina is strong."_

 _"Why did she volunteer?" Xander asked, out of pure curiosity. And maybe political motives. Everything was politics._

 _"Because she didn't want me to go alone. We all know I'm not the best." Yeah, they knew that. Evan was the Sergeant's favourite target for a reason. "It evidently didn't work. I want to contact her but—"_

 _"That's not allowed," Jack finished. "Yeah, I probably should do that with my sister, too. Do you have siblings?"_

 _Xander nodded, thinking of Sophia in New York and Victoria wherever she was. "Yes, I do."_

 _"How are they doing?"_

 _Xander's eyes teared. "I don't know. One is… missing. The other—I can't contact her without risking her safety."_

 _Evan's hug was warm—in a strange way. Not the 'don't go, honey, I don't want to lose you' of his mother, or the 'you better not make me regret this, son' of his father. Something brotherly—not that Xander could tell; both his brothers were just as much cut off as Sophia was._

 _Looking back, he wondered if it was here that they put one and two together. He never asked, but he knew they weren't surprised when they learned his true identity for sure._

/ / /

 _He had lost count of how many days it had been, but the day they went to the market—that day—was after the training. A day off after a successful mission, and 'Alexander Smith' went out alongside his friends. It was the first night that Evan had slept through—the first after a mission without nightmares._

 _They had gone past the over-expensive burgers that Jack bought either way, and stopped at a store that claimed to have imported 'real New Asian culture'. Xander, having been to the country, recognised the quality of it though, and nudged them to go on._

 _It was then, when he bumped into the brunette who just happened to stand in his way._

 _"Apologies," he spoke. By now, he knew better than to stop—he kept on walking, checking if his wallet was still in place. It was, and he returned to the conversation he had with his two closest friends._

 _The second time, they met was not too soon later, when the friends sat down outside a café. Back then, Angeles was still peaceful, and while they were to leave for Midston soon, they enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere of the city protected by the royal guard._

 _To Xander, that meant three victories._

 _Once—Angeles was safe._

 _Two—he would go on real missions, again, despite his father's dislike of the idea._

 _Three—nobody had ever recognised him._

 _Years of laying low and being protected by the status of 'child' did miracles. His friends still didn't know, or they pretended not do. Both was acceptable—he was grateful for both—Evan, soft and emotional, and Jack, playful and daring—because to some degree, they reminded him of Sophia and Ernest. He missed them—he missed his whole family. But being a soldier gave him a purpose._

 _The café was full, and the three occupied a table with four seats—nothing else was free when she came, again. "Hey, do you mind if I sit with you guys? There's no place, and I really need to just sit down."_

 _Them saying yes—if it was only because Jack hadn't seen a girl in ages and was in—was a death sentence. Especially when she introduced herself as 'Tori Belasko' with that damn smile. Maybe it wasn't Jack who'd end up being so interested in her…_

/ / /

 **Irina's Room in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Irina Cavanah**

Something was odd.

It wasn't the fact that she was finally catching up with her brother, or the early hour. She had worked around this hour before, and going by his stories, so had Evan. Some special unit—secret and not meant to be known to the public. That was why he had never written. _That_ still hurt.

It wasn't that her brother—Evan Cavanah—had become best friends with the Crown Prince.

She just couldn't pinpoint what.

"Which is why everyone agrees he's going to be an awkward muffin."

"Sorry, what?" Irina looked up.

"Xander has been avoiding the Selection—"

"Yeah, yeah, I got that," Irina waved it off.

"All okay?"

"Hm-hm…" Irina nodded. "Don't worry." Maybe that was directed to herself more than her brother. Again, she couldn't tell.

Before Evan could continue the story about Xander being an awkward muffin—really, he just seemed distant—someone knocked at the door. Irina turned to it, fully expecting the uniformed footmen of the palace that usually acted as messengers, or maybe her lady's maid (there was one who had thought Evan was a secret lover—apparently, some other girl already got close to that) that wanted something with her.

It wasn't a staff member, but a guard. "Hey, Evan—sorry, ma'am—the Crown Prince asked for you. Poor footman had no idea where to find you, and that was half an hour ago."

Evan frowned—was it that bad? "Okay, sure, I'll call him. I'm off hours, though."

The guard nodded, said his good-bye and gave Irina a formal bow. Still weird. People didn't do that at the construction site.

"Is that bad? The prince wanting to talk to you, I mean."

Evan shrugged. "He does that all the time. Usually it's Vic."

"Princess Victoria?"

"I have the great honour of being one of the few guards she doesn't throw lamps at. Only pillows."

"… What?"

"Long story. Nightmares. Fight or Flight mode. She's got a very good aim and hits _hard_. There are a few others, though, so I wouldn't see why Xander would want me to come now—I should be sleeping. I have a shift in the afternoon…"

"Why is he in charge of Princess Victoria's guard roster?"

"He isn't," Evan replied. "That's another thing." He grabbed his phone—definitely a newer model than the one he had when they had last seen—and dialled a number.

"Hey, it's me, Evan," he said into the speaker. "Can you put me through to Xander? He wants something from me, apparently, and I want to know if I need to eat breakfast first."

Silence. Thinking of breakfast, Irina was hungry. The girls were still free to eat on their own and all, but usually, Irina met with Rie, Deylin and Andreia to eat.

"What's up?" Evan asked to the phone. So, he was through to the prince? "Oh, that—I thought we were going to do that this evening? Hm?" A break. "Yeah, I know—I thought this evening? Hmm… I see. I was kind of hanging out with Irina, though. Catching up, you know." Another break. "I mean, sure, but aren't you—"

"What's up?" Irina asked.

"He's being an awkward muffin."

Irina could almost hear an indignant "I'm not!" from the phone.

Evan returned to the phone call for another moment, before putting it down. "So, Xander needs my help with something and probably is too embarrassed to ask anyone else. Do you wanna join us? Grab breakfast and plan Selection stuff?"

Irina rose her eyebrows. "That sounds like an advantage to me."

Evan shrugged. "Xander said that it's fine, so… worst case, and sell it as a weird date while your-brother-slash-his-best-friend was around? How much drama can happen?"

Thinking of yesterday and the clothes discussion, Irina replied, "a lot."

"Fun."

"Absolutely."

Challenging the odds, Irina decided to join them, though—let alone because she wanted to know what this meeting was about, and why Evan was the only one Xander would ask. Therefore, the off-duty-guard and the Selected (definitely not in TV-worthy clothes, nobody could complain about that in her case) were heading to the Crown Prince's office.

Arriving there, Xander seemed to be buried in a mix of breakfast, coffee and thrown-away papers.

"So, what's this about?" Evan asked, sitting down.

Irina noticed his lack of manners. Another thing that was odd. She _noticed_ that. Unlike her brother, she gave Xander a polite curtesy. He gave her a brief, tired smile and nodded to the table he was sitting at.

"Do sit down."

"Did you sleep last night?" Evan questioned.

"Yes and no. Some stuff about Sumner kept me awake."

"What?"

"Arguments about different approaches to reconstruction and all… Nothing I want to discuss now. I need to get _this_ done."

"What is this?" Irina asked, "How can we help?"

Evan picked up one of the discarded papers, and began laughing. "I see what's up."

Irina peeked over his shoulder. The twenty-five names on the paper were, evidently, the Selected that weren't eliminated. She quickly noticed information on each girls, and vague activities scribbles besides.

"You're planning dates."

"Yes," Xander sighed.

"You look very motivated."

"I talked to dad about this. He said that it came 'naturally', but you can't really do 'naturally' anything if your calendar is packed up for the next two months. Besides, I know that dad went on multiple dates with some girls, ignoring others, and the public didn't like that much because of their favourites so…"

"You could go with rounds?" Irina suggested. "At least while the pool is large?"

"As in, wait with eliminations until I had a date with everyone?" Xander dodged her expression very obviously. He wasn't a good actor. Not at all. "Sounds fair to me, but that won't help."

"Help with what?"

"Mr. Scrooge here wants to save money. Hence the large cut of ten girls, you know."

"Though, I blockaded myself here—I can't eliminate anyone until the Savoys visited. But the timeframe—mixed with my schedule—isn't enough to give everyone a chance either way."

"Unless you do group dates," Irina went on. "You could go with—I don't know—three or four girls at a time. Less girls, less dates, less time."

"Less awkward too," Evan added on. "And if anything comes 'naturally' as you call it, you just add it as a bonus."

"Depending on how worried you are about public backlash in terms of not giving everyone the same chances—"

"I want to take that in concern," Xander decided. "At least for now." He glanced at the calendar in front of him. "What's twenty-five divided by four?"

"Six point two-five," Irina replied.

"Twenty-five by three?"

"Eight and a third."

"So… eight dates if I go by groups of three… We have four weeks until the Savoys come. That's two a week." He skimmed through the calendar. "Plus some events Sophia wants… Say three a week—should be doable." He began scribbling again. "Thank you, Lady Irina. That was a very good idea."

"So… are you going to squeeze in one this week?"

"If I squeeze one… I should, yes."

"What are you going to do?" Irina asked.

"That—" Xander nodded towards the countless papers. "That is a very good question I do not know the answer too. What do people even do on dates?"

"Good question," Evan laughed.

"I mean," Irina picked up the pencil and pointed towards Xander's clumsy list of the girls. "You evidently don't know everyone very well. It'd be difficult to organise groups while still including everyone's interests equally. You could go with your own, and just see how they respond?"

"Xander doesn't have hobbies, though," Evan teased.

"I very well do, and you know that!"

"Work doesn't count."

"I don't mean—actually, that's a good idea. When we—"

"Yeah, I kind of agree—a budget meeting isn't very interesting, Your Royal Highness," Irina interrupted. "What else do you like to do?"

Xander leaned back. "Swimming," he began, "cooking…"

"You remember that one time we went onto that nice market? Where was it again? Sonage?"

Xander nodded. "Yes, that'd be nice."

"Then we'd have three basic ideas out of eight," Irina nodded (although she could not imagine the prince in a kitchen, by all means…).

"You can take Irina to the FandomCon. She'll stay at the Lord of—"

"Oh my gosh—yes, it's on again, isn't it?" Irina jumped up. The FandomCon was, at least leading up to the civil war, THE place to be if you loved any media that wasn't from this century; surprisingly, that included quite a few people and Irina had been wanting to go for ages—it was a paradise, full of cosplayers and—"

"Sure…?"

"You could invite Katheryn? She seems to be quite into Twilight," Irina went on, already planning what she wanted to do (she'd probably dump the others, but hey—the FandomCon only happened once a year!). "Oh, and one of the girls talked about some old video games that recently gained traction—I can figure out who that was and if the convention has something about that. And Sloth Girl—" Irina stopped. That wasn't her name. Right. "What's her name again—it's a strange one…"

Xander laughed. "I know who you mean, yes."

"She likes that television show 'The Bachelor' a lot. I think that's where she got the Sloth Costume idea from."

The prince nodded, and began scribbling down again. One date was planned for sure. They were productive—and going to the FandomCon! That was going to be the best day of the whole year! Absolutely!

"If you're going swimming, maybe not just go to the pool but the beach?" Evan suggested. "As in, we live in Los Angeles, you know."

Xander nodded, although hesitant. "Do remind me to take everyone to the Clermont residence though…"

"Then, what else?" Irina asked.

"Hiking?" Evan suggested. "Maybe to the Hollywood sign?"

"That area is off-bounds," Xander replied. "War means."

"… Aren't you the Crown Prince of Illéa?" Irina reminded him.

"That—" Xander nodded. "That's true. Good. Hollywood sign and hiking. Or something like that, at least." He leaned back. "What about paintball? Ernest and I used to play that a lot when we were younger."

"Could have bad war connotations," Irina pointed out.

"True," Xander nodded, "but it's not like everyone'd come along—you'd just chose girls who you can assume to be fine. Plus, nobody has to come."

Irina nodded. "That'd leave two dates."

"Horses, maybe?" Evan pointed out. "I know you haven't ridden in a while, but there are three girls in the Selection that have horses, I think—I heard some asking about the stables the other day."

Irina nodded. "I think Tessera is teaching Pricilla how to horse ride? She has been since we arrived at Hill Castle. I don't know much about horses, but if you aren't too fast, maybe that'd work? Plus, a pick nick? Sounds like something people do in movies, at least."

"Gokarting? Sightseeing? Shopping? There's the butterfly garden, that's pretty. I'm sure girls like it?"

"GoKarting isn't something you can do a whole day," Irina pointed out, ignoring the 'girls like it' comment. "You could mix it with something else. Same for paintball, by the way."

"Maybe not gokarting but a road trip-like thing? Maybe camping?"

"I'm fairly sure that's against Sophia's 'fairy tale' idea," Evan pointed out.

Xander shrugged. "I can assure you, politics isn't a fairy tale."

Irina looked on her own just-written notes. They had eight dates. "We have eight activities. Now we need to split them between the girls. We have people for the FandomCon, but for others? And their order?"

"The order could be picked up as important," Xander pointed out. He made eye contact. That was new.

"Randomise? Or at least say that it's random?" Irina suggested. "If you randomise, it saves you the pain of needing to choose who—and you can always switch people around if it doesn't work out. I'd say it'd be weird to put Rie into swimming for example."

Xander nodded. "That's true. We have groups for the FandomCon and for horse riding though—we can randomise the rest though."

And mostly, they stayed true to that word.

"Then there's just one more issue," Evan joked.

Irina frowned. "Which would be?"

"Xander being an awkward muffin around you girls. I doubt he'll stop just because he now knows what to do."

"Why?" Irina blurted out.

Xander looked away. He also looked stiff. He probably was—just like he was fiddling with his pen. Irina tilted her head, moved to the right to see him entirely. Xander was blushing. Definitely uncomfortable.

"I mean," the prince began, "imagine you are in this situation. You know you'll inevitably end up marrying one of thirty-five girls. Even if you've been in a relationship before, how do you make that happen in this environment? There's no 'how to be romantic with strangers' available in the library…"

True, Irina agreed. "Then," she suggested, "start out with just hanging out with everyone, but as friends? Casually, and no romance involved? You don't have a time limit, so just take your time. Isn't that how dating works?"

"Since when are you so knowing about that?" Evan teased.

Weird, again. Something was off.

"Chances are I had more boyfriends than you did."

Evan frowned, "Also, he low-key does have a time limit. Money."

"Harriet's brand deals," Xander pointed out. "But yes, that's true."

/ / /

 **Entrance hall of the palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

To some degree, Xander regretted the order of dates. He really wanted to go to that convention—not because he was anyhow interested but because Irina wasn't as difficult to be around—but at least Lady Harriet was part of the first group. In the worst case, they could discuss brand deals all day.

 _One will be your wife, Xander._

With Irina's help, again, he had sent each of the three Selected a message, asking them to meet him on Friday morning. At first, he had wanted to keep the chosen activity—the market visit—a secret, but Irina convinced him that it'd be easier for them to prepare and dress. She had been right.

"Good morning, ladies," Xander greeted Rosy, Deylin and Harriet when they arrived. _One will be your wife, Xander._ It was morning—eight o'clock—but all of them looked quite ready. Well, almost—Xander genuinely hoped nobody had noticed him pacing up and down in the morning. "I hope you don't mind me taking you away from the lessons."

 _Just hang out with them as friends._

"It's perfectly fine, Your Royal Highness," Harriet replied. Had Sophia gotten around to looking at the brand deals?

"Good," Xander said. "A little warning ahead—there will be cameras trailing us, but I do quite hope that they won't cause any issues. Just be courteous of them."

The girls nodded. Rosy's smile looked forced—like his mother's, when they met the Illéan elite. He remembered that smile all too well. For now, though, Xander overlooked it. Maybe it was just the bad memory of the ball earlier this week, and the reporters that had gotten in. They needed to up their security, Xander realised. Another thing, he needed to look into.

They boarded one of the 'undercover' cars, as Ernest liked to call them. No Illéan emblem, no mark telling that the car transported royalty—he genuinely hoped that they wouldn't be noticed too soon. Of course, they had guards with them, but maybe a public place hadn't been the best choice for a first date…

"How come you chose us three, if I may ask?" Deylin asked, when they were driving through Los Angeles' busy traffic.

"To be quite frank, I randomly drew three names. I felt it was fairer to everyone." The cameras were running, quietly. Of course, anything private could be cut, he reminded himself. "You three were drawn for the market, and since today is a Friday and my schedule allowed it, I chose this activity first. I do plan to go by chance for the others though. At least for now."

"I do have to admit that it's quite a curious first choice," Harriet pointed out. "Sophia pointed out that she wanted to show the fairy tale of the Selection—you wouldn't expect to begin on a market like this one."

"To be fair, Cinderella didn't start out with a ball gown either."

Harriet laughed. "That's true, yes. Do you think you will repeat what your father did during his Selection?"

"Any specific ideas?"

"The butterfly garden, for example. I saw the footage—absolutely beautiful."

Yes, Xander knew of that date. He knew more about it than Harriet ever could. Maybe, at some point, he would—but not now. Not with what the garden meant to his parents.

"Maybe," he replied. "The garden was quite significant to my parents."

"So, you'd prefer to start your own story, so to say?"

Xander nodded. "That is quite a good description, yes."

"How did you come up with this idea?" Harriet asked, curious. She leaned against the coloured window of the car. Xander didn't realise that his conversation with Harriet cut out Rosy and Deylin entirely, but Rosy in particularly was quite happy about that, as he'd soon discover.

"Me and a few friends stumbled upon it during the time I was part of the army, and it's quite a nice place. Great food, and going by a friend of mine, great deals for other things as well."

"Is it a second hand market?" Harriet wondered.

"Some things are, but by all means, not everything," Xander remembered. "Going by a friend of mine, it used to be quite the tourist attraction, actually, so I assume you can find a few souvenirs as well."

Harriet grinned. "Wanna bet who can get the best bargain?"

Xander laughed, unsure whenever Miss Brand Deal was serious."Sure, why not? I'll just remind you that I deal industries for work."

"Well, I am learning how to run an international hotel chain. The joke's on you."

The car stopped, outside the market that was already brimming with people, and Deylin opened their door. Their bodyguards, undercover at the moment, were going to follow them, but seeing the market made Xander smile. Good memories. Mostly.

"Where are we heading?" Harriet asked.

"I would say—where ever we can get the best bargain?" Deylin joked. "I'm in too."

 _Just hang out with them as friends._

"Well," Xander began, thinking. The last time they had gone here, neither Jack nor Evan had been into serious trouble for money, so none of them actually bothered with bargains so much—he did know of a few stores that charged ridiculously much for bad burgers though. "There's a store that sells McDonalds-level burgers for ten dollars. I wouldn't feel guilty to start there."

"Ten dollars? For burgers?" Deylin frowned. "Do they not have sandwiches?"

Xander shrugged. "I'm not sure, go ahead and ask for it?"

"Yes, let's go!" Deylin declared. "For the sandwiches!"

The crowd was, as always, large, but fortunately, no one caught up onto the four—coincidence and luck, or the bodyguards tailing them, Xander didn't know. Harriet stopped them twice for 'pretty shirts'.

The third time, Deylin sighed. "Can you do clothes shopping later? The sandwiches!"

"But look at the shirt," Harriet replied. "It'd look pretty with my black-white skirt."

"Yes—but, sandwiches."

"This one," she fetched another shirt, "would look pretty with your hair…"

The conversation went on, between Deylin demanding sandwiches and Harriet insisting on dressing Deylin. Xander, at best amused, leaned against one of the stalls' walls, listening to them. Evidently, Harriet was insistent on good clothes. Deylin, on the other hand, was fonder of sandwiches.

"Maybe you should wear a shirt with 'I love sandwiches'," Harriet teased.

Rosy, who hadn't said a word yet, stepped next to him, watching them silently. She turned around twice—by the time, Xander's attention had moved to her, he wondered if she noticed someone following them. He turned too—but didn't. "Is anything alright?" he chose to ask. "Did you see something?"

"Oh, uh, no," Rosy shook her head, avoiding eye contact. "I'm just… too many people, and… I'm a bit concerned about someone recognising us. You. Anyone, really."

"From what I've learned," Xander began, understanding her, "people are more likely to come and tell you 'hey, you look like a prince' than assume you are the prince. It has happened to me, Ernest, Sophia…"

"Really?" Rosy asked. "The probability of that happening with four of us though, with the bodyguards trailing us and the cameras you mentioned, is quite low though."

"That's true, yes."

After Rosy didn't respond (but continued looking), Xander turned back to Harriet and Deylin's clothes-sandwich debate, but his interest didn't stay all too long. With Rosy's worried glance, he decided, he needed to do something.

"If—" he began, but no—that sentence would sound rude, wouldn't it? Offering her to leave would sound like he didn't care about her, and by all means, he just didn't want her to be uncomfortable.

"Pardon?" Rosy turned to him.

 _One will be your wife, Xander,_ he thought.

 _Just hang out with them as friends,_ he reminded himself.

Well, if he already started… "If you feel uncomfortable, I don't mind you heading back."

"It's fine, it's fine," Rosy insisted. "I—I…"

"Yes?"

"I chose to come, as a bit of a challenge, among other things," she admitted. "I do not do well with social settings, but when I learned that my mother had sent in an application for the Selection, I chose to go along—ultimately. Just like, I agreed to come today. The cards said I should go, and—" she took a breath. "—and it's a chance to get away from them, and maybe find more courage."

Something didn't entirely feel right about that, but Xander chose to listen.

"Alright—" Great. Rosy was opening up or so, though—the point of how the Selection was meant to work and all, but really—how was he going to deal with that now? _One will be your wife, Xander._ "Is there any way I can be of help?"

"I… Uh… I'm not so sure…? I mean… It's kind of a thing I need to do on my own and… yeah… absolutely…"

"What did you mean with cards, if I may ask?"

"With the cards? Oh, uh, tarot cards."

"Tarot cards? As in, the things you use to tell the future?"

Rosy's nod was slow and hesitant; given—Xander had reacted the same way—he definitely didn't believe into tarot cards and, as awkward as Rosy was, she probably guessed that. Xander frowned—if Rosy believed into fortune telling, then was she, in any way, be fit to be a Queen?

 _One will be your wife, Xander._

No matter if he liked a girl or not—he needed to judge whenever she would be a good queen for Illéa… Was this good reason for Rosy to leave?

"Let me explain," Rosy insisted. From now on, she went on like a waterfall. "If you believe in tarot cards and have them interpreted, then the result will always be vague—a fortune teller doesn't know you well enough—only you do. Reading cards helps you understand the essence of what you want and what you think will happen. We always know more than we consciously admit—reading cards helps in understanding them."

 _Be fair_ , Xander told himself. "That's a very interesting interpretation. I've never looked into it."

"You should—opening your horizon is the best thing you can do, because the human concept of having comfort zones is constricting—it's useless, even," she augmented. "Only through challenges—challenging our common believes—you can break through and discover new things."

Challenging common beliefs—that reminded him of Project Omega. It hadn't been touched in ages—they really should look into it. Maybe challenge themselves to take a new step, even if previous attempts had failed, huh?

"That's why you challenged yourself by applying for the Selection? Interesting."

"… Alright, that was a lie. That reason I gave you why I came? Kate's summary of my 'internal struggle' in the 'story' of the Selection. I know the ending. I don't want it."

"The ending?"

"Have you ever seen any movie or read a book about an introverted character? Chances are, they're all brave and extroverted in the end. I'm not particularly fond of that twist. I'm fine the way I am."

"Ah, I see." Louis could deal with that better. Even Ernest could—he used to be into literature, ages ago. Xander, well, wasn't. Great. The Selected are more educated than he was.

 _One will be your wife._

"Also, please make sure Kate never gets a hand in the Selection planning. It's only gonna get worse from now on."

Xander wasn't too sure if that was possible—Sophia really needed to get her game together, but then again, he had only known Katheryn for a few days, and already agreed. "I will certainly try—although, maybe dealing with that would be such a challenge too?"

Rosy paused. "That's true, but at what price? I'm sorry to say that, but Sophia has 'forgotten' a few things. If she wants a fairy tale romance, she needs to work for it. As for Kate, she's obsessed with Disney. Leave her in charge, and everyone will be dressed in Disney gowns."

"That also sounds like an interesting challenge," Xander teased.

Rosy cringed. "Did you see me during the ball? It was terrible—definitely outside my boundaries. Going out of your comfort zone is good, but you don't need to live uncomfortably. That's out of the question. You always should have a place to retreat to if you're uncomfortable."

Xander smiled—no, definitely, Rosy wasn't on the list to send away. That attitude was good, he believed. They needed that—he needed it. He turned to the other two girls—still busy with the fight for clothes.

"We can come back to this later too," he nudged them. One philosophical debate on boundaries and comfort zones was enough time to decide on clothes. "The market isn't open the whole day."

"Is it not?" Harriet asked surprised. "Alright—let's go—time to get these over expensive burgers, or whatever they're called. I'll just need to buy this shirt."

And she did so, and pulled it over her dress. Combining brand jeans with a second hand t-shirt didn't look too bad, but then again, the bottom was a sloth costume. Xander did question that decision. They headed around the corners and stalls, through the crowd with the cameras following them. People turned—he did notice that—but nobody said anything.

Good.

 _But one will be your wife._

Scary.

Really scary—not that he'd admit that. Harriet eyed the stall selling the overpriced burgers from the distance (it was ten bucks today) like a hawk eyed its prey. Good that they hadn't bet on anything, Xander decided—maybe he wasn't going to be so good after all.

"They'll probably recognise us," Rosy, the voice of reason, noted—stopping Harriet from going first.

"… Right. That's an issue with how I planned to go."

"Wigs, maybe?" Deylin suggested. "Although we'd need to find them…"

"Close up, it'd still be the same issue," Harriet pointed out. "We can't try to get a good bargain on the price if they know that we're gonna go and stay at a palace later on today."

"It's worth a try, you know?" Deylin suggested. "I mean—we can always explain that we're doing it for the television and what not?"

Harriet grimaced. "And—I mean, think about it. They probably demand such a price because they need it."

"You can donate money later?" Xander suggested.

"… I don't actually have cash on me."

"We can go and grab money at the ATM as we go and get the wigs," Deylin insisted.

"… That might work, but we'd still waste their time… They could make money instead, you know…" Harriet pointed out. She had folded her arms and shook her head. "So, I believe it'd be unfair if we wasted their time."

"You just were quite interested," Rosy remarked, bitter.

"I'm up for a bet on who can get the best bargain, but now that I think about it, it would be unfair to think of them—they probably need the money. We can go and get down-priced brand clothes, if you insist but… these people probably need it."

That, Xander had to admit, was true. The last time he'd been here, it had been driven by _another_ meeting. He frowned—would it make more sense for them to go and get the bargain? Morally—definitely not. It'd be fun, and probably interesting for the cameras, but they had enough press risks to deal with and if there was one rule, then it was to not give the rebels any points to discredit them. Strangely, it was Harriet who stood against that.

 _But one will be your wife._

He would favourite Harriet with this. He would make a point if he sided with her—even if it wasn't motivated by the Selection. Therefore, he'd show more preference to her. Xander gulped. Deylin was in for the fun and the rush—he didn't want to stop that, and she, as Five, had more of a background fit for that, but no—he needed to be responsible. He had to be.

"Lady Harriet is right," he admitted. "You're free to go, but I will not."

"Rosy? Will you come?" Deylin suggested. Rosy's response was nothing but a pretty quick 'No' and a glance to the camera team.

Deylin sighed. "Alright. What do we want to do then?"

"Why don't we continue to look around a bit? I'm sure we can find interesting things? I'm sure there'll be more clothes," Harriet suggested.

Although she glared at Harriet, Deylin agreed, and the four continued strolling over the market. Deylin's attention, fortunately—he didn't want a fight on the very first date, soon drifted away to the other stores. So did Rosy's and Harriet's, and his own.

While Rosy was, still avoidant of the cameras, buying an old book, Xander stepped next to Harriet.

"If I may ask, how come you suddenly changed your mind?"

"Oh, uh," Harriet shrugged. "I might be a lady of status, but that doesn't mean that I'm not able to think of others. I don't need a discount; I was just in for the challenge, and I merely understood that it would have been unfair for the seller. I don't need to bother myself with getting discounts, of course, and didn't want to lower myself to such a level," Harriet convinced herself.

"I see…"

"And, of course, there _is_ the point that they need the money," Harriet quickly added. 'I might be a business woman and want the best deal for myself, but I want a happy customer and a happy employer—or I'll soon struggle to maintain business. That applies to this, too—I want the best deal for myself, but also a happy seller, or I'll never be able to get some again. Where's the worth in one-time-sells?"

Xander chuckled, "That's an interesting analogy."

"I made it up on the spot—please, let me apologise."

"Don't worry—you don't need to create a Shakespeare sonnet while walking over a market. I understood what you meant."

"Good." She laughed. "So, you like Shakespeare?"

"Not more than I like any other literature, but my mother was quite found of him, among others, so I grew up listening to it… I still do not understand how she could think that Hamlet would be a nice bedtime story."

"What's it about?"

"If I remember correctly, an insane prince meets his dead father and does as he tells him to, and ends up dying? Something along these lines? It's incredibly long, but I believe the line 'to be or not to be' stems from it."

"… I definitely preferred my Cinderella bedtime story."

"I believe she changed tactic when it came to Sophia," Xander laughed. "I do remember that when we were children, she announced that she'd become Cinderella. She refused to believe that she was a princess until Vicky talked her into it, with the argument that she was too, and there was no evil step-mother."

Harriet smiled. "Veira spoke about something along these lines one time."

"You've become quite close, haven't you?"

"We both enjoy fashion a lot," Harriet nodded, "and we both come from a good family, so yes. It's just quite an annoyance that she sleeps all day, but is awake all night—but I assume that comes from New York's nightlife. I do my business during the sunlight hours, though."

Xander nodded. "I do too, but when Sophia came back home, she was jetlagged—as if she had been to Europe."

"Europe's nice, though—I'd understand why you'd want to be there."

"She hopefully does," Xander muttered. "Either way—have you spoken to her about the brand deal idea?"

"I suggested it. I believe Veira was invited to go to the fashion week either way, so when I am getting my own invitation, I was thinking that everyone could simply come? I'm sure a start could be made there."

"That sounds terrific, but I'm sure the organisation team will be able to organise it."

"Oh, so you like fashion shows, too?"

Again, he laughed. "I didn't mean to imply that; I'm afraid, I quite lack in that department, and honestly have other things to deal with, first. There's politics to deal with."

"There's always politics to deal with," she replied. "Does that come from Shakespeare too?"

"If I remember my mother correctly, then wasn't Shakespeare essentially a fanfiction writer? She often joked about that."

"Would that make Katheryn Blanchard the next Shakespeare? If so, I should definitely read the story she wants me to read so badly."

"What story?" Xander asked, curious.

"I am sure she'll make you read it, too, at some point. Rosy probably has been forced to read them by now—Kate essentially adopted her." Harriet chuckled. She nodded to Rosy, who handed over a note to the seller. Not too far away, Deylin, who was looking at a few paintings by now. Everyone, a bit, was on their own, he realised. They should do something together—at least now.

"Now, shall we actually go and eat something?" he suggested—to all three girls.

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **Next Chapter:** "Victoria grabbed the scissors,"

 **Hey, it only took twenty-seven chapters to get to the first date! I promise you, from this point on, the pacing will increase. I'm not the best at pacing, evidently, but the outlines** _ **_suggest_**_ **that things will move along now. Finally.**

 **Welp.**

 **That being said, the first date! Yay! We see Rosy, Harriet and Deylin; their interactions and the content of the date itself flowed pretty naturally, and I'm quite glad, because it fitted with the earlier part of the chapter. I'm planning to write the whole first date round from Xander's POV, but as I'm currently outlining the second round (yes, I'm working with the elimination right now :eyes:), I'm considering showing these dates from the girls' POV. We'll see. :) That being said, some things the girls told Xander may not be (entirely) truthful… :eyes:**


	29. Chapter 28

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Xander remembered his time in the military, including Evan and Jack, two friends he made there. Xander and Irina, alongside Evan, plan the first round of dates, with Irina being noticably excited regarding the FandomCon. Although nervous, he also embarked on his first date, with Harriet, Deylin and Rosy. They head to the local market, and Rosy struggles with the public spotlight. They discuss and Rosy claims that she came to the Selection because she wanted to challenge herself. Harriet and Deylin have a fight on t-shirts and sandwiches and the brand deals come up again._

 **Chapter 28**

»Victoria grabbed the scissors«

 **Rose Garden of the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Sophia of Illéa**

When Sophia had mentioned the search for a venue to Veira and Harriet, Harriet had suggested one of the Tailor hotels. For a while, that was exactly what she considered—until Abby pointed out that it could be seen as favouritism when Xander insisted on not doing that. Instead, Abby suggested the palace rose garden.

She also reminded her of other work, to which Sophia replied with nothing but a cringe.

In the end, she did contact the LA fashion week, if only hesitant. Of course, being a princess, she had been invited either way, but dragging the girls along… it meant just another moment given to them. So much about enjoying her last weeks and months in Illéa. She did send Frederick another note, suggesting him to visit. Maybe she could get out of this, if she got Adrian to come and meet him. That in itself seemed to become more and more of an issue, though.

Now, as the royal guard was slowly letting in the lucky, background-checked visitors, Sophia watched all from the safe distance of the balcony of the Women's Room. Usually, this spot was used by the guard to work out. Today, it had been transformed to the fairy tale setting—where Illéans could meet their princess candidates.

There were mics installed—to catch everything for the _Report_ , and Ernest was already talking to the guests, cameras following and all. He was good at this, she had to admit. Meanwhile, Xander was hiding at work, Louis was in the library and Victoria was god-knows-where. Sophia turned up the volume of one mic, eyeing the origin of it.

"Can you tell us how you got in here?" Ernest asked two visitors.

An older women—in the Selected's age, maybe—and a little girl. She had to be even younger than Vicky was before everything.

"A lottery! We won!" the little girl, holding a paper book and stuffed unicorn, declared.

Ernest smiled, genuinely and happy. "Then you were really lucky!" he declared, kneeling down in front of her. "And that's a pretty unicorn."

They weren't—they were chosen by Sophia's team—but nobody cared about that. She turned the mic down, moved her eyes again. A bunch of teenage girls were just approaching Katheryn Blanchard and her friends.

"I heard you're really fond of Twilight," the girl began. "I wanted to know what team you're on."

"Definitely Team Jakob! Edward is a dangerous stalker and their relationship was never-ever healthy. It's bad. It's really bad, and nobody should be encouraged to like that." Rosy, next to her, looked like dying. "What about you?"

"Uh… I'm… uh… neutral." The girl looked as awkward as Rosy. "What's your favourite instalment?"

"You mean, as in, book?" Kate asked.

"Yes!"

"Never read any. Never saw the movies either."

Rie, on the other side, busted into laughter. "Aren't you the designated Twilight fangirl though?"

"Miss Cake—Kate—"

Too late, Rie caught it already. "Cake? That's your new nickname."

"But I'm Rapunzel!" she insisted. "Look I have all—"

Another hand touched the sound controls, turning down the volume. Sophia looked up, almost—just almost—expecting it to be Xander telling her off for listening them instead of… whatever. Sit and do paperwork, like him, when she was a princess and meant to do princess-y stuff like tea time and diplomacy.

It wasn't Xander. It was Louis. What was _he_ doing here?

"Can I help you?" she asked, soft and careful. She knew Louis didn't like these public situations.

Louis shook his head. "Just curious. What's going on?"

"Katheryn, there, got into trouble for having never read Twilight. Gabriella now calls her Cake, because one of the guests stumbled over her name. Other than that, just Ernest with the cameras. Do you know Twilight?"

"Yes, I do," Louis replied nonchalantly.

"Did you like it?"

"I've read lots of Young Adult from that generation. I've seen better. I'll never understand that vampire craze."

"I see…"

"Anything else that's interesting?" Louis asked, leaning forward.

"I'm waiting for someone to go to the girls that went at the market. Deylin, Harriet, Rosy."

"Rosy is Euphrosyne Tillings, isn't she?" Louis nodded to the girl. "She looks like me during balls."

 _At least he's honest_. "She does appear to have some issues with that, yes."

"Then for god's sake, why isn't she out yet? The Selection will be—is—a torture for her."

 _Yes, it would be, but she's not going to look better than me, so who cares?_ "I assume Xander likes her—why would he keep her, otherwise?"

"We do not need another case of 'not fit to be queen'," Louis huffed. "At least mum was decent enough to try…"

 _But you don't try either_. "I agree, but Xander wasn't listening to us at all."

"I know…" he sighed. "Look, there's someone going on with Rosy."

"Oh my dear…" Sophia sighed. "I'll go down to jump in if something happens."

"Good idea, yes, do that. I'll hide in the corner, if you don't mind."

"Just go to the library, as always."

That, maybe, sounded a bit meaner than she intended it to. Yet, it was said and there was nothing she could do to change it, except maybe go back and console him, but she always did it, and honestly, she also didn't have the energy to do that. She had Rosy to deal with—and probably more.

On the way through the garden, she heard some questions on the way, circling around the palace life and Xander. Another thing she couldn't understand, but she did her best to make the whole fairy tale believable. It's just her belief that's fading.

On her way, Tessa approached her. "Your Royal Highness, m-may I—" Just turning to her cuts her off, though.

Sophia gave her a sweet smile. "What can I do for you, darling?"

"I… I would like to ask for your advice."

"Advice?"

"I… I really… I don't think I'm behaving adequately for a Selected and… I just… Cilla has tried to help me but…"

"I'm sorry, I don't understand entirely?"

"I would… you…" Tessa sighed. She took a deep breath, and looked up. "You always look so elegant and pretty, and I feel like, everyone else is doing it too, but I just can't see myself doing it. I wanted to ask if you could give me some tips or help."

"Oh," Sophia rose her eyebrows. So, she wanted help? From her? Because she appreciated that, Sophia knew how to behave properly? How sweet. Sophia smiled—genuinely—and nodded. "I'm happy to help you—although right now isn't the quite ideal time. Why don't you join me in my office later on? I'll call for you."

"I would love to!" Tessa smiled.

Sophia gave her an additional smile, and headed on to deal with the inevitable disaster coming from Rosy, and maybe Kate. She sighed—already questioning why she had let these two in in the first place.

Fortunately, besides these two, not much happened. The questions and discussions between guests and Selected were as predictable as Kate's Selection AU, and Sophia soon found herself sitting down with Ernest, listening to him discussing things she didn't care about.

What really only got her attention was when a footman arrived, asking for her to go and meet Helena in said royal office. Which was off enough, because she was meant to leave this evening, and Sophia would have expected her to be busy with that.

She knocked at the door and found not only Helena but also Abby in the office, alongside a bunch of files—again. The girls' files, Sophia quickly realized. Were they going to discuss the elimination or plans? Where, then, was Xander? Louis? Ernest? Anyone?

Was this about what Louis told her? About their father reading through her?

"What can I do for you, grandmother?" she chirped.

"We need to discuss something—I don't particularly want this to get out, though." Helena's expression was as grim as it had been on the day, her father had ended his Selection. She assumed that at least.

"As much as I don't like the secret talks," Abby begun, "I agree. There are four Selected that I do not understand why Xander is letting stay."

Sophia took a seat. "From what I understood from our last meeting, he seems to be quite fond of doing things against our recommendations."

"He seemed to have listened to Adrian," Helena replied coldly. "Minerva, Euphrosyne, Deylin and Gabriella all have noticeable health issues."

"Rosy? How did she get added to the list?" Sophia asked.

"I helped your brother reviewing the footage of the date on Friday evening, and there's rarely a bit of footage where Rosy does not look uncomfortable. If we were to broadcast it as it is, it would more likely look like she is uncomfortable around either the other Selected or the Crown Prince—and we don't want neither. The fight over clothes is an issue already."

Clothes. Brand deals. Sanction the budget for clothes up to the Italian's visit. Sophia frowned. So much to do. So little she knew when it came to taking care of the Selection.

"She clearly looks uncomfortable with attention. I haven't spoken to her yet, but I assume it's a situation similar to Louis. We can deal with that, but it'd be an issue if she was to win. Why keep her if that'll be a maintaining issue?"

"Tell that to Xander," Sophia huffed. "He's not exactly listening."

Helena frowned. "He needs to. As much as I like Lady Deylin, she'll only run into trouble. We do not need more of that—not when it last led to a civil war."

"Do you have any suggestions how to deal with that?"

Helena nodded. "I want you to talk to your father, and convince him to take action."

After the note he gave Xander during that meeting? There was no way he would listen to her—absolutely not. Worse—he might pull her out of all the Selection planning, and with that going on, was there going to be anything else she could do? No, not really.

"That won't work. He barely talks to me. You try. You're his _mother_."

Helena sighed. "I doubt that'll help, either."

"I've tried," Sophia insisted. "Have you?"

"No, but—" Helena broke off. "Alright…" She rose. "I will."

"Magnificent," Sophia replied. "Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"

"Yes," Abby and Helena replied in unison.

"Would you mind to explain your performance in terms of organising the Selection in the past weeks?" Helena inquired. "Sophia, I know you can do better. What's happening? What has been going on? You haven't been your usual self," Helena inquired.

Sophia answered faster than she thought. "I don't want to talk about it."

To her surprise, Helena's expression didn't change an inch. There was no anger or disappointment, no disdain or frown. Abby did frown, but ultimately, Abby was replaceable. Ultimately, Abby Moon was just around because Sophia never planned for to stay for the whole event in the first place. "I understand that, Sophia, but you do need to realise that no matter what is holding you back–if you don't stop it, then you will need to talk."

"Says who?"

"Think of it as a law of nature, dear."

 _A law of nature? How curious._ Sophia didn't move. Whatever Helena meant, Sophia didn't understand it. Whatever Helena meant, Sophia didn't know enough to object her—nor did she see much of a point in it. Helena had been playing this game much longer than Sophia had. It made sense.

"Alright," she muttered—much more quiet than adequate for a lady. "Alright. But that doesn't change that father won't listen to me. Not now." Not if he realized that she was playing a game. Apparently, he had. An issue.

"I will see after your father, even if I am set to leave tomorrow evening" Helena promised. "Just—you, lay low. Take care of the Selection."

"You're leaving tomorrow?" Sophia rose her eyebrows. "I thought you were leaving next week?"

"No, it's been tomorrow all the time," Abby pointed out. "The first start is Sonage. The plane goes there."

"But what about a send-off—is anything planned?"

"There is," Helena nodded, "but nothing related to you and the Selection. I don't mind a private send-off after dinner, but I'll be present at the send-off of the artists families. That is what I want to focus on, not your costly Selection. My tour is about music, remember? You go play princess and fairy tales, Sophia."

Time to play good princess then, huh? Sophia nodded. She could do that. She'd been the good princess all along. Always beloved, always sweet, always the one everyone wanted her to be. One thing was sure, though. Sophia definitely needed more practice at court machinations.

Sophia rose. "Alright. Thank you very much for taking on the conversation with father," she smiled. "I will be in my office. There's work to do, isn't there?"

Helena smiled, although Sophia couldn't place whenever it was a happy, relieved, or played smile. She couldn't tell what was better either, so evidently, the best decision was to pretend to have an idea and leave. Everyone did that either way. Therefore, she returned the smile and turned around.

Sophia's office was, however, not empty. It took her a moment to remember that Tessa hadn't just gotten lost or had been sneaking around—no, she had been formally invited to join her, because she requested guidance from the princess. Sophia smiled. Tessa's acknowledgement of her abilities as princess did quite warm her heart. Especially after such a conversation. Magnificent.

"Good afternoon, Lady Tessera," she greeted her when entering the room. Sophia took a seat, only briefly glancing at that wall of photos that Tessa was covering. "I'm glad you joined me. Do pardon my lateness; I had an urgent meeting to attend to. I'm not as prepared as I would have liked to, as a result. Apologies."

"Oh, don't worry, it's fine, really," Tessa insisted. "It's nice enough that you're taking time for me. You really didn't need to."

"Well, to be fair I don't have a lot off of time to—" Sophia stocked. That's when she saw the letter on her desk, on top of the other correspondence that hadn't been sent digitally. Sealed with wax, personal handwriting—a private message only meant for her eyes. Tessa probably had seen it. Great.

"Is something wrong? Your Highness?"

"Royal Highness," Sophia corrected absentminded. If Tessa was here to learn... "And no, I'm quite alright. Just give me a moment to read this. It's important."

Important, because it was from Frederick. Important, because it had been a while since their last correspondence. Important, because it was her future. She opened the letter, and began scanning over the words. The letter was written in German. Fit for the German heir apparent; all of their correspondence was in that language, and Sophia, with years of training in diplomacy and protocol, dared so say that she was quite decent at it was well. The core message, though, would have been the same in any language.

And by no means did she like it.

Her escape. Her rescue. Her future. The future outside this godforsaken country that had been doomed from the start. Everyone saw that. Ernest and his rebellions against social norms. Louis and his strange, old-fashioned book analyses even. Victoria knew too—she had to know, after years with the rebels.

Their means were wrong, their reasons expectable. It was truly just Xander who didn't see it. Like the good soldier he was, he maintained the working status quo, didn't think and just followed orders. Their father too, but he wasn't engaged in politics either way.

"I'm sorry, Tessa, but I need to write a response to that." And she had to be better at this than her little 'enjoy the last days in Illéa' plan. Very much better.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Sophia huffed. "If you happen to know how to write a formal letter to a foreign royal, then yes. Otherwise, no, not really. Feel free to be an emotional support, I assume?"

"To whom are you writing? If I may ask?"

"The German Crown Prince, Frederick Hohenzollern."

"How come you're writing to him? Why isn't it Xander?"

"Because—" Sophia rose and took the correct letter papers, envelopes and fountain pens. "—I am the one meant to marry him," Sophia replied. "And as of now, it's not going the way I want it to be."

"Marrying? As in, for real? Like—like in the Selection?"

Sophia shrugged. She lit the seal wax candle. "Yes, no, it's a matter of details."

"Such as?"

"It's an arranged marriage—one that will, in theory, profit both the German Federation and Illéa. Illéa will have the centre of Europe, while Germany will have Illéa as close ally. Someone who, in theory, is meant to be a powerful country with the ability to generate a strong economy and..."

"But that's not Illéa now. That's not what we are now, after the Unrest," Tessa pointed out.

Sophia deadpanned. "Exactly, honey. That's how my future got destroyed, and now it's my job to repair it, because Xander is too busy playing friends with conflicts we're meant to be avoiding and family to actually do real foreign politics."

"You're not a fan of Xander's politics," Tessa concluded.

"No, indeed, I'm not. I have no idea of politics, but I do trust what others that do say."

"Such as?"

"My grandfather, Jonathan Wilde, and Louis, for example."

The frown on Tessa's face was expectable. Louis really wasn't quite liked. "So, it's Xander's foreign politics that are threatening the marriage?"

"In some way, yes?" She looked at that damned letter. "That, and I messed up myself."

"Hmm?"

"Frederick, however he did, got wind of some minor mistakes I made. The ball. Some organisation. The delay in time. The German government is much more complicated than Illéa's. Here, it's one dude having the say. There? I don't even know. There's concern about how fit I would be."

"So?"

"So now I have two reasons to prove that I am."

"But you are, aren't you? Those were just mistakes?"

"Not all mistakes, dear Tessa, happen by accident. Now, let's start with this response. Would you like to go through my correspondence with the LA Fashion Week in the meantime? It'd be nice to have someone take a look at it... Then, do me the favour and take a look at what we have for the Savoys and there's another thing... I can't quite remember..." Sophia paused. "Well, if you would like to, that would be sweet."

Tessa, whilst not exactly talented in any form of correspondence, was happy to, and very soon, the two ladies were buried in paperwork, correspondence and discussions about adequate German wording. Whilst the sun still stood high in the sky of the illéan capital, the girls' attention and focus did not. Eventually, Tessa's pondering came to an end.

"What did you mean? With 'not all mistakes happen by accident'?" she asked.

"That, we can discuss another time. It's almost time for dinner, isn't it?"

Maybe another time.

/ / /

 **Adrian's Drawing Room in the palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
King Adrian of Illéa**

Adrian's afternoon was blurry. He had watched the ladies in the Rose Garden, had read some things, listened to some music, but it had been just as dull as all his days were, nowadays. Now that the afternoon was coming, he was already dreading the evening.

Sleep—sleep would be a good relief, but if he went to bed now, he would be awake much too early.

There was no knock. There was no announcement. Adrian turned around when the door opened, almost expecting Lys to come in—she was always the only one not to knock—but of course, it wasn't her. Maybe greeting his mother with a frown was inadequate.

Maybe he didn't care.

"Adrian, I need to talk to you," Helena announced, taking a seat before the King could say anything.

"I would love to," Adrian lied, "but I'm quite busy."

Helena frowned. "Busy with what? Staring out of the windows? Watching the fire burn? Cucumber, you can lie to others, but I see the truth. I'm your mother, if you had forgotten."

"I am quite aware," Adrian frowned—not because of what she said but that childhood nickname she really could drop. "Please don't call me that, mother."

"Yes, yes," Helena hummed and took a seat. "Now, seriously. This is enough. I understand that you want your break and what not, but it's causing issues."

"Issues?" Adrian repeated. From what he was seeing, Illéa was rebuilding and there was no real war. Did they want anything else? Not particularly.

"Xander. The Selection. I do not know what's going on in the boy's head, but he's either suddenly going through a rebellious phase, or he's genuinely not taking any advice."

"On what?"

"The Selection, obviously. There are four girls that are simply inadequate for the throne and—"

Adrian shook his head. He wasn't going to go through that conversation again. "Mother, you said the same thing about Lys."

"And I was right."

"Negotiable." Adrian sighed. "Who are these girls, and what is the issue?"

"Do you even know the girls' names?"

"Vaguely, maybe? Who is it now?"

"Deylin Reyes, Euphrosyne Tillings, Gabriella Jespersen, Minerva Whitefield. Heart condition, social anxiety, missing legs, PTSD."

"And?"

"All of them, despite showing issues prior to the first elimination, showed clear issues, and we couldn't—"

"Magnificent. It's Xander's decision. I will not mess with his Selection." Not like she did.

"Would you risk—"

"I genuinely fail to care for any risks, mother," Adrian repeated. "We've been through this. Have you got something new, or is it just that you're unhappy with Xander's choices?"

"I'm not—"

"Yes, you are. It's obvious. Don't lie to me. So are Sophia, Louis and everyone else, because you look at things that do not matter. The Selection is about—"

"Love? Yes, we've had that. It killed a man I believed to love." Helena shook her head. "But alright. It's your choice. Just remember—it's your kingdom too, and yours to deal with."

Something in Adrian wondered. Helena rose and left, curtly and coldly, as if there had been nothing new in this conversation. There was nothing new, he believed. Sophia. Helena. Jonathan. Louis. Ernest and Xander. They were unhappy with how it was, and that was not new.

By all means, he had better things to do with his time than listening to these repeated machinations.

Such as staring out of the window and—

This time, someone knocked. That was something, at least. Not much, but something. Fortunately though, it wasn't his mother but a footman, announcing that 'Miss Lillian Blanchard' had arrived.

Adrian's mind went blank.

Lillian who? The name rung a bell for sure, but he couldn't explain why it was him who was informed. After all, that sounded much more like a guest of his daughter or mother, not himself. "Who is that again?" he therefore asked. He didn't bother to turn around to the servant.

"The mother of Lady Katheryn. From what I understand, you invited her to come by during the ball, sir," the footman answered dutifully.

 _Oh. Her. Right. I did that. Terrible decision._

Adrian sighed—he'd have to send her away, because he was not in the mood (or right mindset) to meet a visitor. That mindset was the reason why he had handed the power to his son too, after all.

"I, uh, believe she bought cucumbers, for some reason."

Now, Adrian turned to the footman—who looked just as confused as he felt. No—he wasn't confused (he knew exactly where that came from). It was rather the notion and Lillian remembering that itself that puzzled the King.

"Cucumbers?" he repeated.

"Yes, sir. I do not know why, sir."

Adrian inhaled air. He needed to do something—or Helena would feel like she could start calling him cucumber again. Or worse. Amelie, when she'd come to visit, would. Adrian nodded to the footman. "Right. Thank you. Where, again?"

"The Orange Sitting Room, sir."

Adrian dismissed the footman, or rather, walked past him and turned around again because he figured that he probably did not look appropriate. Therefore, he gave the footman the message that he'd arrive 'shortly' (court code for 'wait and see') and headed to deal with that clothing issue.

A 'short' period of time later, he arrived in said sitting room. Lillian had indeed brought cucumbers.

"Good evening, Miss Blanchard."

"It's a pleasure, Your Majesty."

"How—" Adrian chuckled. "How come you brought cucumbers?" He took a seat.

Lillian followed the notion. "I remembered our last conversation and saw them on the way. Cucumber sandwiches are quite good, I must say."

 _Cucumber sandwiches. A symbol for overindulgence and excess in The Importance of Being Ernest. One of Lys' favourite plays_. Adrian remembered that. Lysandre had loved chatting about it. He froze.

"Of course, they are," he replied robotic. "Of course, they are…"

"Is something wrong?" Lillian noted.

"No, nothing," Adrian replied, and put on a false smile. Right—he started this meeting, so he had to run it. How did people have conversations again?

"I heard that there was a form of Q&A with the Selected today?" Lillian mentioned.

"So did I," Adrian replied. "From what I heard, also a quite dull affair." Sophia could have put more effort into organising it—then again, there was that strange agenda she seemed to have.

Now it was Lillian who chuckled. "Why is that?"

"Superficial questions, basic organisation. It did what it promised, but I would have wanted something else to happen. Not that I could tell what but…"

"That almost appears to be a pattern, I must admit."

"A pattern?"

"Well, I must admit that being the concerned mother I am, I have been keeping tabs on my dear daughter, and I do noticed moments where things… just could have been more, you know? I must admit that what is broadcasted on _the Report_ is quite entertaining, but I believe that Princess Sophia made a few mistakes with invitations and the ball in general…"

"Yes," Adrian nodded. "I have heard of that, too. The ball might be my fault, but Sophia _has_ been off recently. It's concerning."

"Maybe it's the stress? Coming back into what is meant to be normal? If I were to decide, I still wouldn't let Katheryn out—even when I know that it's safe again…"

"Sophia has never been someone to be stressed by that," Adrian pointed out. "She's always loved being the fairy tale princess and…"

Now, there was the whole Selection fairy tale she was setting up.

"Then there's everyone who is urging me to take actions—not only on that but the Selection itself too…"

"Oh."

"I'd almost dare to say that nobody is happy with Xander's choices."

"Are you?"

"I have not paid enough attention to form an opinion."

"Would you have been happy if people had done the same when you had yours?"

"It happened," Adrian replied. "All the time—mother was always around the girls, it felt. I wasn't."

"Then you have a perfectly valid point, don't you? Unless the Crown Prince asks you for assistance, it's his decision, isn't it?"

"That's right, yes, but…"

"But? Pardon my ignorance, but I fail to see the opposite."

"You could point out that Xander only has one side of the whole situation—he's biased and other opinions and views should always be considered as…"

"But is the Selection about politics, or love?"

Adrian sighed. "I chose love, and look where we ended."

"Your Majesty, if you don't mind—I've followed your Selection closely when I was young. By all means, I felt like people were terribly biased towards her. First, she was just like everyone else but then… I don't quite remember when but there was an incredibly sudden turn against her. Not only in magazines and third party reports, but most noticeably in The Report itself. You maybe didn't notice, but almost from the beginning, there was blatant manipulation."

"Go on…"

"Of course, many saw no reason to do that—especially when you seemed to favourite the Queen—so many assumed it was the best of the worst, but was it? You said that you were influenced by others. Who doesn't say that 'love' was manipulated by politics?"

"Hmm?"

"Apologies for my… rather strong opinion, but it did leave a mark on me, when I was young. Seeing how easily people were manipulated. From what we saw—there was no way a person could be that bad. I couldn't imagine it. The footage had to be out-of-context. It had to be."

"I see what you mean." Adrian nodded. "I can't say if it was or not, but—pardon me asking, what's the point?"

"Your Selection was manipulated—in one way or an other. You've been in your son's shoes. Right now, people are trying to manipulate him, and use you to manipulate him."

"Ooh!" Adrian nodded. "You could have summarised that faster."

Lillian chuckled. "I'm sorry—it's just been a while since I've had someone to be annoyed at about that. I'd love to say that I can talk to Katheryn about it, but she's never been that fond of 'the past'…"

"With an exception of Sophia, I have to admit to the same."

They laughed.

"Have you ever tried to do anything, about the intervention into Xander's Selection?"

"Well," Adrian leaned back, "they had a meeting concerning the first elimination round. Xander came to me to discuss his thoughts first, and I ended up coming along. I did not intend to say anything, but ended up making notes onto who seemed to want what and…"

"I see," Lillian nodded. "That's good, if I may judge."

"Hm?"

"If I understand it correctly, then you only observed, and didn't advise."

"That's true, yes," Adrian nodded.

"Unlike the others, you didn't force your opinions on your son—only helped him recognising other's bias. If I may—that appears to be the best idea." Lillian paused. "I can imagine that the same voices would probably urge you to return to the government. Is that true?"

Adrian nodded. "Exactly…"

And they didn't understand.

"Is there a reason? From my, inevitably biased, point of view, Illéa is doing well—better, at least. I understand that they'd want you back," she chuckled, "but if you don't feel up to it, why fix something that isn't broken?"

A smile hushed over Adrian's face. "Thank you," he spoke, and looked into Lillian's eyes. Finally someone making a real point. Giving him an excuse not to feel guilty anymore. Xander _was_ doing well, from all he knew. If not, surely, Helena and Jonathan would have pointed that out specifically.

"Now, let's end this therapy session. Do tell me, Miss Blanchard, how have you been?"

Maybe inviting Lillian wasn't so terrible after all.

/ / /

 **Third Floor of the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Victoria of Illéa**

The image in the mirror was clear.

Blonde, long hair. Average height. The face of her mother, just so much younger and with traces of her father. Not brunette. Not tall. Not that confident smirk. Not Tori. Victoria gulped down whatever was coming up. She trembled—just like that almost pain-like feeling in her stomach. Fear.

Victoria grabbed the scissors; her thumb moving over the sharp side—the only thing she had. This had to be done—absolutely. She had to get over it—whenever Tori liked it or not. That girl in the mirror—she had to own that reflection again. It had been too long—far too long.

Piece by piece, the blond strands fell down onto the ground.

"Your Highness? What are you doing? Are you alright?" someone suddenly called out. The first reflex was to throw what was closest—the scissors—at the maid arriving in her room. Fortunately (there had been times), she did not.

"I don't have to tell you!" she declared, loud and ready to fight for that. She did not need to listen to _anyone_ , Tori always insisted that. Xander did, too.

Logically, by the way the world worked, that made things law. Because Xander was the Prince Regent, his word was law.

Morally, that was wrong. One person should never have the only word.

But that was where they all diverged. Him. Her. Them. Andrew and William, the old men.

"Don't think about that," she told herself.

"Think about what?" the maid, frightened by the scissors, trembled. "Ma'am?"

"I—right," Victoria muttered and turned around. She straightened her back, like dad always did when he addressed his advisors and smiled. Faked smiled. Whatever. "Everything is alright," she declared. "You're dismissed."

"… Okay?"

Victoria gulped, dropped the scissors and looked into the mirror again. How strange, still, but it was getting better. She knew that the girl in the mirror was her. She knew it—thought it—but no—the feeling? That _knowing_ that it was her?

Still not there.

Tori was going to be angry at her. She had been against cutting her hair the whole time. Sophy would probably comment on it too—but because it was as uneven as the hill in the palace forest, not because she didn't want her to cut off the excessive hair. Sophy too had given her the idea for what she had been planning to do today.

Figure out who _they_ were.

The girls that evidently were planning to take away her brother.

She couldn't meet them in her night dress—not again. She had to look decent, but how did you dress for that occasion? Sophy would know, but Sophy was busy. 'Keeping a watchful eye on them', as she described it.

She took a deep breath. Went to change. Went to the door. Went back—shoes. Went to sit down. Probably ended up staring onto the wall for a period of time.

But eventually, Victoria Illéa stepped through the door, into the hallway, and towards the grand staircase.

She had to. She had to figure out who these girls were, and how they dared to take her brother away from her. Therefore, she stepped down—step by step. Heartbeat after heartbeat. _You can do this_ , she told herself. She had to. The Women's Room was only so far away—mum and Sophy were always there, and maybe grandma was too, or their friends or—

She didn't get that far.

"Oh, it's you again," Jaira—that brunette from the day with the loud music—commented. Alongside the redhead, Anastasia, they seemed to be about to head upstairs.

"You." Victoria balled her fist. She could do this. She could do this. She had to. "You're a Selected."

"Yes, we are," Anastasia replied. Her smile could rival Helena's pride, she thought. "And who might you be? I'd dare to say you owe us an explanation."

 _Victoria Annelise Illéa. Your Royal Highness. Vic. Vicky. That girl. The girl. The princess. Her oh so royal highness. The Other Victoria._

There were many names she had been called by. Victoria froze. Blanked. An explanation. She couldn't give one. She knew—she knew that they tried their best to just end the war so they could go on and try to end it and then deal with the fallout and then they could try to work on all the things the rebels once complained about before they would continue with working on Project Omega and—

Anastasia spoke up. "Something really must be wrong."

She had to tell them or they'd be suspicious and they'd know that she was here to figure out what they planned.

She pressed out, "What—why are you here."

"… Because we're Selected…? The Selection is happening here?"

"Why are you in the Selection."

"It's a great platform that allows young women such as us to voice our opinion and—"

Victoria frowned. Anastasia was going on, but she sounded, at best, like the military advisors back then when the _war_ was just a budding conflict. Nice words, she might mean them, but really, she didn't want that answer, and—

"What about you?" Jaira frowned. "Why are you here? Who are you? What happened to your hair?"

"I cut it."

"Why—why would you cut your hair like this?"

"Because it's long and that girl in the mirror, it's not me, and—"

"Girl in the mirror? What do you—" Jaira stopped. "Oh, I know what's going on."

Anastasia's expression didn't move an inch. "Oh, do you now?" she teased.

Jaira glanced at her friend for a moment, probably questioning her, before turning around to Victoria. Her shoulders dropped, a smile appeared on her face. Why the sudden change in attitude?

"You're Princess Victoria."

If there was a brief rush of surprise on Anastasia's face, Victoria didn't catch it. "Oh, yes, of course. There's certainly a resemblance, but isn't she…"

"…always in her room," Jaira finished. "Except that she does resemble the King and Queen…"

"Are you?" Anastasia turned to Victoria, her voice clear and focused. "Are you Princess Victoria?"

 _Am I?_


	30. Chapter 29

**Fallout**

 _The Meet & Greet with the Selected turned out to be underwhelming, but Sophia didn't bother. Instead, her attention was caught by Tessa seeking advice and court politics, specifically centring around Adrian's lack of intervention with 'inadequate' Selected, as Helena calls them. Sophia received a letter from her fiance-to-be and was told that the current rumours regarding her actions in the Selection to not help the arrangement._

 _Lillian Blanchard, Kate's mother, visited Adrian and breaks through to him, closer than anyone else had previously. Meanwhile, Victoria, driven by a moment of panic, runs into Anastasia and Jaira._

 **Chapter 29**

»There she was again—the family therapist«

 **Palace Hallway, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Jaira Phillips**

After putting together the first two pieces, the puzzle solved quickly. The blonde girl—the one they had run into during the party—wasn't some strange child living in the palace, maybe with family or so, but Princess Victoria.

Anastasia took a brief moment, before the smile on her face returned to is sweet, charming shape.

The girl, Victoria or not, hesitated. Jaira could almost see the thoughts running through her eyes, and the longer the silence stayed, the more she came to think that maybe, she wasn't that much in a position to answer that. Who knew what actually happened to her? There surely had to be a reason why Victoria was so protected and secluded from the world…

"I…" she began, much less forceful and much quieter. "I think so."

Anastasia stepped forward, making Jaira want to jump ahead because as far as she knew the other was still not entirely worth trusting. There were too many variables—too many things to be questioned and too many questions left unanswered. However, Jaira wasn't fast enough.

Anastasia's move wasn't entirely towards Victoria—maybe if it had been, she would have reacted—as it was a mere courtesy. "Apologies, then, Your Royal Highness."

Something moved in Victoria's expression—something that Jaira couldn't entirely describe. Sadness? Hatred? Anger? Disdain? She couldn't tell. Something negative for sure.

"It's not—" she broke off, as if speaking whatever words that she intended to say was futile. Maybe it was—had been?

"Yes?" Anastasia asked. "Oh, and—apologies for the lack of introduction. I'm Lady Anastasia Collins of Dakota, and this is Lady Jaira Phillips of Whites."

"… I know. You're the girls that are stealing Xanxan."

"Xanxan? Do you mean Xanax?" Jaira frowned. Why was the princess talking about drugs?

"It's—I mean—it's—"

"Are you, by any chance, referring to the Crown Prince?"

"Yes, I am, I mean he is—" she broke off.

"I see," Anastasia nodded. "So, do I understand it correctly, that you are worried that we will take away your brother?"

Victoria stepped backwards. Her feet turned—she was going to run away any time. "Yes, of course! That's what—" Again, she broke off.

"Don't worry, nobody will take your brother away from you. I promise that," Anastasia replied.

Victoria hesitated. "Why should I believe you?"

"I understand, there's no reason to believe me but my word." Anastasia smiled.

… And? Jaira leaned onto her right foot. What else was she going to say? Victoria frowned, glared at Anastasia and it seemed almost like both were waiting for the first to give in. Anastasia kept smiling, but the distrust didn't disappear from Victoria's expression.

It didn't, not at all.

"I won't stop you," Anastasia added on, "but do acknowledge, please, that while everyone has their own reason to be here, I can assure you that it's not for me. I barely know your brother for now, and I'm sure nobody will be able to take him away from you. Have you spoken to him about that worry?"

"… Yes, I did."

"And…?"

"He's not listening…"

Anastasia tilted her head. "As in, what? If you don't mind me asking?"

"I… I don't… Don't remember." Victoria looked aside.

"That's alright, dear, don't worry. When did you talk to him?"

"During the day."

"Do you remember when? What was he doing?"

"I think… there… they were in the garden? Drinking tea. Probably Sophy's bad tea. She's not good at making tea…"

"What did you ask him?"

"Why he was letting this happen—why he did this."

"This, as in, the Selection?" Anastasia asked.

"No, this—letting someone take him away!"

"I see. Maybe he misunderstood you? I believe, that day was when we first met him as Selected, and he was quite nervous. I doubt he realised the weight of your situation."

"But—Xanxan always does… he has to! Tori said so! He's a soldier and—"

Anastasia chuckled. "But is love the same as war?"

"It isn't," Jaira commented. "You know—would you compare your parents' relationship to running the country or military?"

"No, of course not…" Victoria hesitated. She looked up to the two women. "They're…" she trailed off.

"So, maybe, because he was nervous, he didn't listen properly?" Anastasia suggested.

The princess nodded. "I see… I see…"

Anastasia smiled. "So, how would you try to explain him your feelings?"

"Sit down with him?"

"That's a great idea." Anastasia looked to Jaira. "Don't you agree?"

She nodded. "Absolutely. Is there someone who feels like you?"

"Sophy. And I'm sure Tori understands too."

"That's great! Then you have two people to support you!" Jaira cheered, although to be honest, she felt like she was talking to a child. Victoria did look a bit like a child who had gotten in a fight with a teacher, but genuinely believed that she was right. Or maybe Anastasia was the teacher and Victoria was new… Jaira didn't know, but she felt like Isla or Rowan could deal with this better than she did.

"I understand…" Victoria nodded. "You're a nice person."

"Thank you, that's nice of you to say," Anastasia replied. "You know, you could go and talk to Miss Tori now, and ask her for help? I'm sure she'll be happy to help."

Victoria, although hesitating again for a moment, nodded and turned around, leaving the two Selected in the hallway. While the princess walked away, Jaira made eye contact with Anastasia. Said Selected pushed away a strand of hair, and nudged her to the Women's Room. Jaira, wordless, nodded and followed her on. "Why did you send her to Miss Tori? I've barely seen her here…"

"Have you noticed how Sophia has been, regarding the Selection? The 'oh I forgot it's weekend and there are no lessons', the ball… To be honest, the Meet and Greet she organised was quite mediocre too."

"… And you're concerned that Sophia might be biased? Against the Selection? She seems awfully happy about it."

"Yes, and I look like I'm interested in the girls' discussion about fashion. Sophia has grown up in the spotlight, and her mother was a trained actress. I doubt she isn't sprinkling something into that." Anastasia shrugged. "If you see what I mean."

"I do," Jaira nodded. "I do."

"Something on her side is off."

 _Something on your side is off too, Anastasia Collins_ , Jaira thought. She did agree with the 'oddness' of Sophia though; everyone probably did, but what could they do? Ask the Crown Prince? How often had she even spoken to him? Maybe Ernest, but Jaira couldn't help but view him as quite lacklustre.

"Yes," Jaira nodded. "There's something we don't know."

"There's a lot we don't know." Anastasia insists.

 _About the royals, about the Selected and you, Anastasia Collins._ "We'll see, I assume?"

"This'll be a long Selection."

"If we stay."

" _Of course_ , I will stay."

/ / /

 **Sophia's office in the palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Sophia of Illéa**

Sophia yawned. She dropped the phone, with a pleased smile. The timeline on her calendar slowly filled with green ticks, each marking an organized event. She was doing well! Great, actually. Even if Helena wasn't around (which, in some way, was good), she had kept on track.

Alright, it had been two days, but details.

Events were organized, she had written down an outline for Ernest and copied it for Xander and the rest of the team—the only thing left was to check with Xander if he had the plans for today's date.

Then, there's Helena's note to check on her father because he didn't listen to his mother either; a job obviously left to Sophia because she obviously was the family therapist while two of her brothers just flunked away into the smallest corners of the country, to live a full happy life, while she was stuck on phone calls with Angeles, trying to calm her worrying mother and stressed dad and deal with the fact that her little sister and cousin were pretty much dead and—

Sophia groaned. There she was again—the family therapist.

Someone knocked at the door; going by her calendar, it had to be Xander. A chirped, happy 'come in!' later, Crown Prince and Family-Therapist-Slash-Princess begun to discuss the date he planned for today. There was nothing that required much from her, except relaying information to the Royal Guard and all (which, though, was done by a member of her team) and communicating with Ernest's _Report_ team.

When they were almost done, however, she stopped Xander midsentence. Even though her heart was heavy, she couldn't help but go full in. Frederick wouldn't know of this, but she had to. Seeing Xander like this was hurting _her_.

"Xander, you're nervous," she stated. "Sit down again; let's talk."

Xander sighed. "I'm fine."

"Then do explain to my why you look like Louis when he's meant to be on _the Report_." He was an older, better build example of their brother; sweaty, with eyes darting around and twice, Sophia had to pull him back from 'a train of thought you don't need to bother with'.

"You did well on the first one. Sure, Rosy was a bit of an issue," she added, thinking of the conversation she would need to have with her father, "but it was well received."

"'Well received'?" Xander repeated.

"The public liked it. Relatable. Fun. Loved the banters, loved the decision you came to in the end. Nothing out of the ordinary, and some people claimed Rosy's screen time was unfair, but duh—we couldn't put her in panicking. There're some area shots, so people guess you just had some more private conversations—which is true."

"I see…" He didn't seem calmed. The public reception couldn't be the issue then, Sophia concluded. "How much have you talked to the girls? Aside of this and the first meetings time?"

"Not really? I ran into Harriet, but you know of that. Have you looked into it?"

Sophia nodded. "Yes—I don't think it'd look classy if I went out and asked, but I contacted the organization of the LA fashion week. I was invited either way, and I got everyone a seat. Don't change the topic though."

"There really hasn't been anything worth pointing out…" Xander trailed off. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm trying to figure out why you're nervous."

"I'm not."

"Yes, and I'm the Empress of China."

"Sophy, I'm serious. Do you have any other reason to ask?"

"No, except now I have one—are you hiding something?"

"No; it's just that Irina and Evan helped me with planning the dates. The outline, you know, and how to determine who goes when and some other things."

Sophia rose an eyebrow. Did she want to question that? No, not really. Irina wasn't on top of her watch list at all (she really just had been average and no threat; not when compared to Veira, Rie, Nereida, Isla and friends at least—but that didn't mean much because the Selected barely even had any screen time), but now, she maybe should.

Then again, Irina had stayed in the back. People liked her for volunteering, but that was it.

She wouldn't be an issue—not until Sophia was going to leave either way.

"I see," she replied. "That's fine, I guess. Do you like her?"

Xander blushed. Of course, he did. "Where are you going for?"

Sophia couldn't help a grin. "I'm just curious in my brother's love life, but—whatever. It'll be alright. Who's on today?" She glanced down at the notes for the recording she had just received. "Nereida, Jaira and Veira, huh? Besides Nereida's questionable knowledge of our family, they're going to be fine. Besides, you love swimming. Worst case, you can dare them to do a 'who can dive longest' duel and avoid talking."

Xander tilted his head. "That's not everything, really. If you don't do it with someone watching, it could—"

"Sarcasm, Xander, that was sarcasm. Are you worried about what to do? Is it that?"

"I mean… yes, I guess. I know what I do when swimming, and the idea behind the dates what to do things I enjoy and all, but swimming—what do you do with others? I'm always on my own."

Sophia leaned back in her seat, glancing at the photos on the wall. There were enough images to prove that that wasn't the case, but most of them came from the family resort in Clermont either way. "Water ball? You and Vic used to just throw the ball at each other. I never understood what was so fun about that, but it kept you occupied. You could lit a fire in the afternoon and do marshmallows? Go and get wood for that? I don't know which beach you're going to, but I'm gonna assume it's not the most popular one in LA. Besides that, look for seashells? Snorkeling? Well, okay, you'd need equipment for that but…" she paused. "I'm sure you four will come up with something. Statten has been in the pool almost every day with some other girls, I'm sure she likes water, so there are races you can do too and—"

She had lost Xander's attention. Her brother was nodding absentminded, and scribbling away. Sophia knew—if she really wanted to be helpful, then she should be the one listening and not giving advice—not when he hadn't really asked, but did she have the energy for that? Not when she'd need to talk to her father too—and Sophia already dreaded that.

 _You gotta be on good terms with everyone, Sophy. Play the pretty princess. Then you'll get out._

Out of the country that was nothing but ruins, in her opinion.

"I see, yes… I'll look into it." Xander rose. "Thank you for the paperwork, I'll be back to you for the shelter thing. I have a meeting tomorrow and—"

"You don't need to be there, Xander. We know that you're literally running the country. No worries."

Xander smiled. "Right. Good. See you at dinner?"

Sophia cringed. "Spend that with the girls, not me. And, you're welcome for the therapy session," Sophia joked—not without evil intent.

"What do you mean?" Xander rose his eyebrow.

"Come on," Sophia shrugged with an amused grin. Better hide that she meant it sarcastic. "I'm the family therapist, aren't I?"

"I wouldn't—"

"It's fine. Now go and go work. You probably have enough to do for the government to distract yourself."

Xander looked aside. "That's true."

"Have fun," Sophia hummed. The door closed not too soon afterwards, and she groaned. Her father was, she assumed, free the whole day. There was nothing stopping her from procrastinating and planning ahead or so, but there wasn't much she really could do. Urge the girls to work on the Italian visit? Nah—not when three of them were going on a date.

"Maybe some tea with Veira and Harriet?" she wondered. The three of them had delightful conversations on their expectations of the next fashion week. It was lovely. "No—Veira's going to the beach. That won't work."

She could call upon a few other friends, but that opened the question why she hadn't deal with her father, and there weren't many other people in the palace, she could go and see. Vic, maybe, but that Belasko girl was protective of her like a lion. Ernest was either doing Report work (hopefully, he'd have hours of material) or, as she assumed, was somewhere out of the palace, flirting. Louis wasn't particular interesting to talk to and that left her with the other Selected.

"I might as well just go and talk to dad," she muttered grim. "Tessa, maybe? I could ask her if there's anything specific she wants help on but…" Tessa knowing about Frederick made things difficult. She shouldn't know—nobody but Xander and Adrian in Illéa should know. Political risks and what other nonsense. "It'd be better if she stays in the Selection—if just for now… Plus, she's nice company—so, yes." She shot up, reached for the bell, and asked one of the servants arriving where Lady Tessera might was.

A quick glance into the mirror (a princess couldn't look like she had spent the whole day doing paperwork!) later, she stood inside the stalls that she had, admittedly, not set foot into in ages. Another sacrifice she had made, long before she had moved to Waverly.

"Out for a ride?" she asked, when she saw Tessa and Cilla (finally—she had been waiting for an hour, pretending to enjoy the nature or some crap) coming back on two horses. They probably had been in the forest behind the palace.

Tessa was faster to get down from her horse. "Your Royal Highness! Hello! What can we do for you?"

"Oh, I was just coming by," Sophia lied easily. "Are you having a nice day?"

Tessa nodded. "I've been helping Cilla with learning how to ride, and we've gone for a really long ride today!"

Cilla nodded, visibly exhausted and less enthusiastic. "Yeah, that's pretty much it. I need a spar now…"

Tessa turned around, with a bright smile—she could have come straight out of a children's cartoon. "What? Come on! We can do a bit more—the day is far from over."

"My legs are over." Cilla almost fell down from her horse. "You can go on riding, girl, but I need a break."

"That's unfortunate," Sophia replied, trying her best to care. "I haven't been riding in ages… I could use some lessons." _And someone to talk to._

"I-I would love to, but I'm not that good of a teacher…"

Sophia shrugged. "You taught Cilla. It'll be fine. I've done this before." She waved to her one of the stall hands. "Would you please prepare Apple for me?"

"Uh," the stall hand sweated, "I'm afraid to say so, but Apple passed away two years ago. Cancer."

Apple, a beautiful, snow white horse, had been a present to her by a good friend when she had been younger. She had always been on her side. She was a lovely, beautiful horse and friend. Sophia froze. "Oh… That's… unfortunate."

There wasn't much more she could say. Not when she had been back in Angeles for months and still hadn't heard of that. Not when she should have been here the whole time, been with not only the horse but her whole family—everyone—and not somewhere save in Waverly and with her father—or even mother—when she passed away because the last time she had spoken to her had merely been on a phone and just for five minutes because the line was only secure for so long and Lysandre Illéa had believed that it wouldn't be too much of an issue, because they would talk later, because the safe house was a secret and nobody knew, and if even, Adrian was in much more danger, so she had spent ages talking to her father because the palace was an attack target and her mother was safe and nothing would happen to her and then she went to sleep and at midnight, they came and told her and—

"Your Highness? Princess Sophia?" Tessa spoke up.

With tears in her eyes, Sophia turned around and gave her one of these false smiles she had given Illéa for years. "Yes, dear? What can I do for you?"

"Ma'am," the stable hand begun, "you look really white and… do you need something to drink?"

"No, no, no, I'm fine," she replied quickly, wiping away any traces of the tears that were already drying. "It's just unfortunate—but I do believe there are other horses, aren't there?"

"Yes, of course," the stable hand nodded quickly. "I'll prepare one immediately."

"Please have a change of clothes prepared for me too," Sophia quickly added.

The stable hand disappeared inside, probably hurrying to tell one of the palace servants of that part, while Tessa stepped closer, leading the brown horse next to her. She hesitated for a moment, before shaking her head. "Are you sure you are alright?"

Sophia turned around. "Of course, I am." There wasn't much else she could do, was there?

She turned away—effectively stopping any attempts from Tessa to be helpful or anything. She didn't need that, obviously. She had done well on her own for _years_. 12 years in Azkaban, as Kate would say.

The stable hand arrived, Sophia changed and a little bit later, she sat on the horseback—a bit too clumsy to be comfortable, but it was going to be fine. In an awkward silence, she followed Tessa out of the gates into the forest. They started out slowly—Sophia asked for it because she hadn't been riding in years—thanks Unrest—and Tessa was happy to oblige.

"So, you haven't been riding in a while?" she asked.

Sophia nodded. "New York isn't exactly a nice place to keep horses."

"Oh, I see. You spend two years there, didn't you?"

"A bit more, but that's it, essentially. It was… interesting."

"It must have been great so spend all the time in New York…"

"Hmm… Not really. There were all these safety measures—for everyone but especially me—and people were always worried about the nuclear power plants and possible battlefields… I guess the rebels thought the same. I barely left the house on some days."

"Oh. Was that fun?"

"No, believe me. Nothing to do. Nobody could come by because nobody could know where I was. The only real contact to people I had was occasional work correspondence and to my parents… My parents, who were either overly stressed or worried to death about their family."

"That must have been boring then…"

"It was," Sophia nodded. "Just months and months of waiting for news—that couldn't always be sent to me because 'what if the line isn't secure'…"

"I'm sorry for that…"

"And? How was your life in… Kent, was it?"

Tessa nodded. "Yes, that's right. Well, I helped out a lot at a horse ranch. There were less races than usual, so I actually had more work to do because someone had to keep the horses fit. It annoyed my boss a lot, but… I guess it was alright?"

"You guess?"

"Mum didn't really want me to go to school that much anymore, because she was worried something would happen—even though Kent was pretty calm."

"That's unfortunate." Sophia failed to feel for Tessa; she hadn't ever set foot into a school outside of a bunch of philanthropy events. She always wanted to—attend one of the elite private schools and be with friends all day, but no, a princess had tutors—especially during the Unrest.

"How was your day?" Tessa asked, after a moment of silence and thinking.

"Productive. I organised the fashion week visit, handled some Report plans and the shelter visit. I look forward to it."

"Shelter visit? Fashion week? What's that about—if you don't mind me asking, it is."

Sophia bit on her lip. Right—there was one detail she had forgotten about the shelter visit. She hadn't told the girls that'd come along. Another thing she could (and should) do before seeing her father, evidently… although, she'd need to organise things. Maybe after dinner. Maybe just getting past 'visit dad' was better… "I will explain it to you in a bit—it's been a bit… rushed, but we'll take you Selected to philanthropy events. In groups, of course."

"Ah, I see. Who's going for the first one?"

"I think… six girls? Something like that? Yes… I'll talk to them in the evening. You're one of them, though."

The smile on Tessa's face was genuine and cute. "Oh, really? Thank you! That's so nice of you!"

"No worries, no worries," Sophia waved it off.

Tessa, calmly and skilled, stopped the horse she was riding. She pointed to a crossroad of the paths in the forest. "Where would you like to go? One of these routes leads to town, one out of the forrest, and the other ends on the path we're coming from."

Sophia nodded. "I know." She had grown up here, after all. "I think it'd be better to head back, unfortunately. I'll need to do a few things before dinner."

Tessa's cute smile disappeared. "Oh, that's… unfortunate."

"I know—but let's make sure to go for another ride at some point."

"Will do!"

Sophia smiled. Hopefully, she'd actually remember that. She nudged her horse to ride back, following Tessa's example, and turned the conversation to Tessa's side job at the ranch. They kept a slow tempo—Sophia wasn't that confident in her horse-riding skills anymore—and therefore, she could watch the pretty scenery. She liked the forest. It hadn't been touched during the war…

"… and yea, that's why Ginger is my favourite," Tessa finished her story. Sophia had listened a little bit, stared into the green woods a bit, but predominantly, it kept her mind off her father. "I… My mother and I have been wondering if, because the owner doesn't have any relatives, I might be handed down the farm… that'd be cool."

"If you love it, it is," Sophia agreed.

"Yes… I do…" Tessa looked down.

Something was wrong, but did Sophia want to add yet another therapy session to today?

Apparently, she did.

"You don't, I hear?"

"I mean… My mother has always been trying to keep me at home and I've never actually left Kent before the Selection… I kind of… want to see more of the world before I settle down, if you get it? Do you understand me?"

Sophia nodded. "I can see that. It's a bit the opposite for me—when the war started, I decided that there was so much in Illéa I wanted to see before moving abroad."

"You sound pretty nonchalant about arranged marriage."

"This country was at war for six years with itself. People blame my own family and the people I am friends with. My father hasn't recovered from a breakdown and the death of my mother, my oldest brother is working all the time, my other two brothers aren't the same as they were when they left, and my little sister is a ghost of her former self. I'm… done with it, you know? I want a new start."

"I see…"

"I can't just go to a new town and start a new life, so new country it is."

"Wouldn't you miss home?"

Sophia looked to the sky between the leaves above. "I don't know if I will… I'll definitely be happy about the change, and you can always video call…"

Tessa nodded. The palace stalls came to view, and the girls' returned the horses to the stable hand. Tessa offered to help the stable hand while Sophia returned, showered, changed and took a deep breath, because she found herself outside her father's quarters. She knocked—twice—until she could hear her father's 'come in'.

"Hey, dad," she began. "Do you mind me coming in?"

"No, of course not, come in." Adrian was sitting on the sofa, reading a book all too familiar to her. One of her mother's favourites. "Can I do something for you?"

Sophia sighed and took a seat. "I'm sorry for bringing this up, dad, but grandmother is worried about… the Selection and some girls and—"

Adrian groaned—very un-royal. "Sophia, no. I've had this discussion often enough, and no, unless I expect Xander to start war with the British Commonwealth and New Asia, I can assure you, I will not interfere."

"Dad, I can't play counsellor for another family member with social anxiety."

"If Xander believes that he has a reason for that girl to stay, then he does. I spoke to Lillian about it, and I'm quite convinced of my decision."

"But—who's Lillian?"

"A friend of mine." Adrian waved it off.

Sophia hesitated a moment. "I know all your friends, dad. I'm friends with their kids." She frowned suspicious.

"She's not that kind of person."

"Has she been background checked?" Sophia asked, faster than anything that she could think. A terrible habit from Waverly. Always check if people were really trustworthy.

"Well… kind of, yes."

"Dad, you know that—"

Adrian Illéa's face lost colour. "Of course I do, Sophia. Of course I do. I know. I mean…" he looked down. Sophia could see the tears in her face.

Sophia reached out, first, but hesitated. No—not now, she told herself. She knew why they cried. She didn't know the details—never wanted to look into them—but she knew that this all—they were here because someone had been trusted by accident, and the truth came out too late…

If anyone knew to be careful in trusting people, then it was Adrian. He had lost his wife after all.

Sophia rose. She tried. She could tell Helena that—but Helena wasn't around and had other things to do than care about this, right? "I'll leave then… you know where to find me."

/ / /

 **Xander's Office in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

Irina wasn't the best chess player, but so was Xander, so he had nothing to say. She had come by after the girls' lessons had ended. Xander's lunch break hadn't fallen on that time frame by accident. Now, there they were, moving chess pieces around while Irina was idly chatting about the lesson and Xander listening because he was nervous about the date he was meant to go in less than half an hour.

Irina was so nice to never mention his evidently obvious nervousness. She just kept on chatting.

"Have I ever told you about numerology?" she wondered, already going on as if they had been friends for ages. It felt like that sometimes, even when this was one of their first meetings that left Evan out.

"No. I assume it's related to numbers?"

"Bingo." She moved forward. "Rosy and I had a fascinating discussion about it. Turns out that she isn't that awkward if you talk to her alone."

"That's good to hear."

"Are you keeping her in the Selection? What about Deylin and Harriet?"

"I won't let anyone go until the Savoys have visited. It'd be mean to the groups."

Irina shrugged. "We haven't even started planning. It's still weeks away."

"I know. Do go back to the numerology though." He wasn't too found of thinking about the _potential wife candidates_. "What's up with that?"

"Do you know what destiny numbers are?"

No, he didn't. "No, it does sound… interesting?"

Irina leaned backwards, taking a moment to think. She seemed excited, Xander noticed. If only he shared such excitement—be it about this or the Selection.

"Destiny numbers are something similar to your star sign, but not the same."

Xander rose an eyebrow. "Like star signs?" That sounded very realistic.

Irina rolled her eyes. "Do you want to have a discussion about free will, or hear about destiny numbers?"

Anything that distracted him from the date he had in a mere number of minutes. "Do go on. Go on."

"Pythagoras, you know the guy with A-squared plus B-squared equals C-squared? He believed that the world consisted of the vibration of numbers. Do you know how there's this sequence of numbers that appears in many natural things, like sun flowers?"

"I believe I heard of it…?"

"For example, my destiny number is five. That's because my birthday is the fifteenth of June, 2396. That's the most energetic one—fun to be around, adventurous and extroverted. Multi-talented, needing of change, intelligent and grand ideas." Irina smiled. "Quick learners, motivational, visionaries…"

"And you'd say that applies to you?"

"Wouldn't you say I'm fun to be around?"

 _More fun than the awkwardness with the other girls, yes_. "Sure," Xander replied.

"I'm definitely extroverted and intelligent," Irina added on. "What's your birthday again?"

"Fourteenth of January, 2399."

Irina scribbled it down on a piece of paper, added some maths. "Then, yours is eleven. You add up the digits together—one plus four, one, and two plus three plus nine plus nine, until you either get to a single digit or to eleven or twenty-two."

"I see… Which means?"

Irina began thinking again. "Eleven is the master number. That means that you're an old soul, because of your mature thinking. People whose destiny number is eleven emphasize, understand and respect others, and avoid misfortunes well. Their intuition and inner voices are strong and because of their high sensitivity, responsiveness and power, they tend to be people in position of power. They have huge dreams—unattainable even—and this master number opens access to things… beyond? Yes. They spend more time working than relaxing—ignoring their own needs—and deal with insomnia, too much openness and take all the responsibility. Then there's—"

Xander didn't notice her breaking off. Not when what he said about was so reminding of Jack. Emphasizing, understanding, respecting—Evan. Misfortune. Jack. He shuddered—maybe that was what stopped Irina.

"Are you alright?"

"Hmm?" Xander looked up. "Yes, I was just thinking of…"

"The war?" Irina ended, before Xander could even think it.

Xander looked to her. "How'd you know?"

"You looked that way. _That way_. What were you thinking of?"

Xander sighed. "When I was in the army, I ended up as a member of a unit that included Evan and someone else too. We met on the first day and kept together until the end. If what you're saying is true, then I should have noticed—known."

"Go on?"

"Jack betrayed us. We don't know when, but he betrayed us. What he did—it wasn't good. We were friends—good friends, and I really believed, I could rely on them."

"That fits then," Irina replied. "Elevens, they are vulnerable. Capable of emphasizing, but also vulnerable."

"If I had emphasized with them, then I would have known."

"Them?"

"It's a really long story."

Irina glanced to the clock. "We only have twenty minutes, but I've got no plans."

Could he tell Irina? Irina, a soldier? What would she think of Tori? Would she condemn him for hosting the rebel that had been keeping his own sister captive for years? Irina was a solider—just like he was. What she was describing though—that was what he wanted to be. Pretended to be. Emphasizing? That'd mean that he would understand what was going on—in Jack's mind, in Victoria's mind and in Sophia's too…

 _One will be your wife._

What would she do if she knew?

He sighed. "We don't know when exactly it happened. Tori doesn't know, and she's the best intel we've got. Jack befriended with me and Evan, and we ended up sticking together the whole time. I don't know if our superiors kept us together because we were friends and because of me, or if Jack made it happen… Maybe it was coincidence."

"Go on."

"When I was stationed in Angeles—before I joined that unit—I met a woman on the market. Again and again, actually. Her name was—is—Victoria Belasko and we ended up…" Xander broke off, blushing. "Tori and I ended up having a few one-night stands. I thought she didn't know who I was but…"

"But…?"

"I now know that that wasn't the case. I now know that our encounters by chance weren't by chance, but calculated. Tori worked with the rebels. She was one of their leaders—had risen in the ranks because she managed to get information out of Vic. They needed more."

"Why is she here now?" Irina asked, awfully calm.

"We managed to seize many strong holds, forcing them into their bases in Fennley and to enact attacks on Angeles. Tori had long begun to waver in her alliance—because of Victoria. I lost contact to her then, for more than a year until the Siege, because she returned to their bases."

"When did this all happen?"

"Us meeting for the first time? Very early on. Her leaving? Around the time we joined a special forces unit—the one that ended up storming their bases, by the way. I only met her again when we had discovered their base—in their base—because she told me to turn around. That the goal we believed—a big shopping mall—was a hoax and that they knew where mum and dad were meant to be."

"And?"

"I don't know why I trusted her, but I did. I don't know why I followed her, but I did. I was too late."

"The rebel leader, Raven, killed your mother," Irina completed.

"That's—that' not correctly. Not entirely. Tori had gotten a list of safe houses out of Victoria, and they figured out where my mother is. They believed that my dad was there too, but they were wrong—evidently. It was Jack. He hadn't been with us at their headquarter, but he had been sent there, and he had done the deed already. I came in seconds after he shot."

Irina crossed her legs. "Why is she here, then?"

"I… Honestly? I don't know," Xander replied. "Victoria is terribly attached to her. There are some errors, because the time frame of Victoria giving them the safe houses wouldn't allow them to check all of them—even if they had been lucky—but I think, it's because she helped Vicky escape? That, and I believe she's on our side…"

"Emphasizing, then," Irina concluded.

"That, and that Tori genuinely claims that she changed sides long before the Siege, but stayed because of Vic. I have no reason to believe her though—no logical, at least. She claims that something in the high leadership was off, but…"

Irina rose her eyebrow. "Off?"

He shrugged. "Missions without a reason or obvious goal, lost supplies, lack of communication, straying from their non-existent long-term plan? I don't know. It doesn't matter anymore; they're gone. It's just…"

"Is Jack still out there?"

"Yes, yes he is. Among, what we assume, a lot more rebels. People who were in the headquarter and whom he warned."

"That's not good."

"No, it's not at all."

"But, do I understand it correctly—you're blaming yourself, because you let both Tori and Jack slip? You didn't notice them?"

"… Probably, yes."

"That's… a lot to take in."

"I'm sure Tori will be happy to answer questions."

"You probably don't want to think about that during the date either," she added on. "On the long term, Tori would probably be quite helpful. If the rebels rephase."

"I doubt that—I hope it at least."

"I do too," Irina admitted.

Silence fell, and Xander looked back down at the chess board. He considered moving the knight, but saw no reason in it. Whatever Irina was thinking—he himself had no idea what to think. He had dodged thinking about Jack and Tori's past for ages. He had avoided doing anything with Victoria too, and then there was Sophia and the whole government work that he needed to deal with.

"Am I distracting myself with that?" he wondered out loud. He knew the answer.

"If you're referring to 'government work', then probably," Irina shrugged. "I'm distracting myself from thinking about Evan being alive again by learning all this numerology stuff. It's interesting, and definitely not reminding me of this."

"I see…"

"Maybe you should think about it. Maybe we both should."

"How?" Xander asked. "Vic—Vic hasn't done anything in ages, and we don't know where Tori is and—"

"I'm sure we can find a way to deal with it, but now? You definitely need a change of place, Xander."

"I know… That's not new. We need something else, something—"

Irina chuckled. "Well, then, ready for your next date?"

"Are you teasing me—like Evan?"

"To be fair, he's my brother."

 _Right_. That made it even more awkward.

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **I'd say the chapter is late because I'm busy with work, but that would imply I'm actually doing something.**


	31. Chapter 30

_**This chapter includes spoilers for Abizeau's The World Is Watching up to chapter 34.**_

 **Fallout**

 _Jaira and Anastasia meet Victoria, and gain a bit of her trust. Sophia, concerned with her own issues, speaks to Xander about the Selection, he dates and she finds herself playing therapist again. She then joins Tessa in a horse ride, overlooking Cilla. She tries to talk to Adrian and that doesn't work. Irina and Xander meet up to talk, and Xander reveals things about his past._

 **Chapter 30**

» You're contradicting yourself, Fool of a Took «

 **Grand Staircase in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

Xander being Xander meant that he had not asked the girls to come on their own. He had sent a footman each, with a note and details, hoping to avoid all of them for as long as possible. Now, however, he headed to the entrance where a car would be waiting, including the three Selected.

"Your Highness, hello," Nereida greeted him with a curtsy. She had improved most, he remembered Sophia noting.

"Good afternoon, Lady Nereida, Lady Jaira, Lady Veira."

 _Make a conversation, Xander, the cameras are rolling._

"How has your day been?" he asked, as they headed to the car. What weekday was it? Monday? Tuesday? He didn't even remember that—it was so far off…

"We had dance lessons again today," Nereida remembered.

Jaira smiled politely. "You've definitely become the teacher's favourite."

"Nereida, your dancing is magnificent," Veira complimented. "I've practised ballroom dancing my whole life, and I could never look as graceful as you do. What is your secret?"

"Hours of practise, training and dedication!" The car took off. "Where are we heading again?"

"There's a small beach in a bay. It's a beautiful place, and great for a bonfire."

"Oooh! That's the best!"

Jaira smiled. Good. "It'll be interesting."

"You're from Whites, aren't you?" Nereida asked. "Does it really snow there?"

"Yes, it does," Xander replied before Jaira could. "We used to go there for skiing, ages ago. Louis hated it, because it was so cold. Vic loved throwing snow at him. So did Ernest."

Jaira smiled. "That, I can imagine. What about you, Veira?"

It was good to see that the girls were on first-name basis, Xander decided. He couldn't' get himself to do the same—not when first names reminded him so much of Evan and Jack—but it was good to see that the girls were settled in.

Xander looked to Veira. She had fallen asleep. "Let's not wake her up; she can sleep during the drive." Given the Selection being the Selection, they were driving in a limousine. The space would allow Veira to sleep.

Jaira nodded. "That's a good idea."

"Have you ever been to the beach?" Nereida asked Jaira.

She shook her head. "Actually, no. It was either my studies or the Unrest that prevented me from travelling. I'm quite happy to be able to be here now, though. Angeles' heat is quite irksome, but it's a new experience. I'm glad to make it."

"I have never been to Whites…" Nereida muttered. "Then again, I've never been to Angeles either. Or Waverly. Or Sonage. Or Fennley. Or anywhere but Portaviro."

"Portaviro?" Xander replied, surprised to hear that name again. That was the city in which Ernest lived during the later years of the Unrest, wasn't it? Or were there multiple ones in that province?

"Yeah," Nereida hummed. "I'm from the one and only Portaviro!"

"Such a coincidence," Xander chuckled.

"How come?" Jaira inquired.

"My brother, Ernest, stayed in that city for a while during the Unrest. From what I remember, mostly under house arrest though. I'm afraid, he's a little too fond of going out past curfew." Another rule that once was law, but nobody really understood. Gregory Illéa, huh? It had been reinforced in war-faring provinces, but there were few places that still kept it (read a bunch of towns in Fennley).

"Oh, uh, really?" Nereida hesitantly asked. "What a coincidence, yes, haha."

Xander Illéa did not miss the false surprise in her voice. Maybe she had met him there, maybe there had been more than a brief conversation—he wouldn't put that past Ernest. He still remembered the time when Ernest had just started flirting and tried his luck with Veira.

It ended in him being slapped by her, and him getting a harsh talk by Veira's father, his own grandfather and a lovely note from his mother. Lysandre Illéa had always been softest with him.

"Have you travelled a lot, your royal highness?" If Jaira had noticed anything, she didn't let it slip. Evidently, they decided to play over Nereida's lack of lying skills.

"Yes, I'd say so," he replied. "When I was younger—as in, a child—my mother insisted on taking us all to see the whole of Illéa. To say 'I have been everywhere' doesn't feel like an understatement anymore, honestly."

"Did she?" Jaira asked, surprised.

Xander smiled at the memories of the five of them being dragged to the airport, because Lysandre Illéa had found another pretty place to go. "All the time. My grandmother, Helena, sheltered my father and his siblings a lot—going by them, at least. When my mother heard of that, she began making up all these excuses to drag him all over Illéa—and the whole world. She may be an actress, but she was terrible at making them up, so usually, it just ended up being 'I want to see the Eiffel tower' or so."

That was how the press ended up viewing the late queen as frivolous, unrelenting and inadequate for her position.

"Did she?" Jaira repeated. "The Queen Mother? Sheltering the King?"

Xander chuckled. "Oh, yes. Absolutely."

"I don't think I was sheltered…" Nereida declared.

Jaira deadpanned at that. "You didn't recognise Princess Sophia."

"… we don't have a television?"

"Why do you not have a television?" Xander asked. Nereida didn't strike him as _that_ poor…

She shrugged. "We never replaced it when it broke when I was… what? Five years old? Six years old? I don't remember…"

"That is… quite unbelievable."

"It is indeed…" Jaira nodded. "How long is the drive?"

"Two hours? Maybe more? It'll depend on the traffic."

"There is a television…unlike in Nereida's home. Why don't we watch a movie to pass the time?"

"Sure," Xander nodded. "Any recommendation?"

"Oh! Oh! Billie Elliot! It's such a great movie, they re-filmed it some years ago, and—"

"What about something with a bit more action?" Jaira interrupted. "I watched the movie in English class, and it wasn't that interesting."

Xander, who predominantly watched documentaries because he either saw his mother's friends in them or was bored by it (to be fair, he tended to prefer action-focused movies) because they weren't realistic. He wasn't even going to speak up with any suggestion.

"Billie Elliot is such a beautiful story though!"

"What about something with romance? Is that more your taste?" Jaira suggested.

Xander, remembering the evenings where he, Ernest and Victoria were forced by his mother, Sophia and Louis to watch sobby romance movies. Half of the times, Ernest fell asleep. The other, he was thrown out. Victoria sneaked out. They always were traitors to him who stayed.

"What about _The World Is Watching?_ "

Xander vaguely remembered that movie. One of the countless movies featuring a fictive Selection. He hadn't seen it though (never time, never interest), but he wasn't going to say that. Not when _one of these could be your wife, Xander_.

He was surprised that he hadn't thought about that just yet.

"Oh, I know that movie. I really liked Raph."

"No way. Caspian should have won. New Asia did him dirty."

Thank god that the real New Asia was a democracy. "I haven't see that movie yet," he admitted. "Why don't we watch it?"

And with that, they began following the adventures of another Selection that, going by the looks of it, almost made Xander glad that his adventures were different and did not involve such crazy characters, explosions and shot-dead characters.

He fell asleep in the middle of the movie and missed who won, but Jaira and Nereida seemed to have the time of their life discussing their favourites. Now he could understand Veira's nap. Either Jaira and Nereida felt like they weren't in the position to wake them up, or were too entertained by the movie.

He appreciated either.

When the car finally arrived, after driving through a few woods and a gate (the beach, officially was dangerous; really though it was just a secret spot for the very few Ones in Illéa), the car finally stopped just outside a beautiful, small bay with turquoise water and white sand.

Nereida Statten was, by far, the first to get out of the car and jump into the water.

Literally jump into the water.

"Nereida, what are you doing?" Jaira called after her. "You're still dressed!"

The camera crew (which had, per Ernest's plans, arrived earlier) laughed, but kept said cameras focused on the Selected taking a dip. This, Xander expected, was definitely going to end on the cameras, and he didn't mind. Nereida looked happy in the water. The lottery for who to take on which date did her well.

Xander did not make the connection that they'd be wearing swimwear soon.

"But water!" she called back. "The ocean! It's great! Come in!"

"Isn't it cold?"

"Not as cold as in Whites!"

Jaira hesitated for a moment—Xander soon realised that she was looking for a place to change, and fortunately found that there was a small cabin at the edge of the beach for that purpose. A staff member offered her the swimwear they had packed—hopefully they thought about a change of clothes for Nereida—and Jaira disappeared to the cabin. Nereida disappeared beneath the surface.

"Shall we join them?" Xander offered Veira who had only woken up maybe a minute earlier.

"Uhm…" Veira gave him a smile. "I think I'll pass for now, if you don't mind. Maybe just sit on the beach for now?"

"It's midday now. It'll get colder," Xander warned her.

"Right…" Veira looked down. "That's true."

Maybe she was embarrassed by the cameras? Veira was close enough to Sophia to know that whatever she wanted cut out, she could have. Plus, Veira looked beautiful—she was a fashion icon for a reason. Xander and Veira followed Jaira, and not too soon afterwards, they all found themselves in the water, with a ball that Jaira had found.

Nereida looked like a fish in the water, and while Xander was a good swimmer and considered himself fit, he found himself struggling to keep up with her during their water ball game. Twice, she seemed to come from one side of the bay to the other within seconds.

"Catch this one!" Nereida dared him, amused. Even though he hurried; he didn't, and Jaira (who was in a team with Nereida) got it before him.

"Sorry, your highness," she replied with a grin and threw it back to Nereida.

Veira, much slower than Nereida and Xander, didn't even make an effort to go after it. "How are you so fast?"

"Practise!" Nereida hummed. "Also, I live a block away from the beach."

Xander, using the break, leaned back to float in the water. At the beach, the camera crew that had been filming them (semi-actively) was taking a break. How much time had gone past? The sun wasn't setting yet (not that much, at least), so they definitely had some time left.

"New round!" he called over to the girls.

 _One will be your wife._

In the future, yes, but maybe, that was alright. They could be friends, for now.

"Oh, I want to start!" Nereida called out, crawling—still in her day dress—to Jaira and grabbed the ball.

Jaira and Veira didn't as much; Veira soon announced, "I think, we're heading out; we're getting cold."

"And that means something," the Selected from Whites added on.

"Oh, come on!" Nereida complained.

"It's cold," Veira complained, already at the shore and being handed a towel from one of the present staff members. "I'm hungry too."

"We can start the bonfire soon," Xander suggested.

"Sounds great!" Jaira, following Veira, took a towel as well.

Xander took their choice with a nod, and turned to Nereida; they still had a game. With only Nereida, he had a much more active challenge and less time to just lazily float in the water, but that wasn't so bad. Nereida threw the ball—towards the further side of the beach, and Xander chuckled. He turned around and began crawling, grabbing the plastic ball. He threw it back, and Nereida began sprinting again.

Back and forth, back and forth.

They did eventually come out, when they too were getting cold. Nereida was the first to get out, receiving the towel, and laughed. Her flowery dress was one big salt water mess, but like Victoria would have, she didn't care. Nereida giggled amused, and took the towel.

"Do you know how to start a bonfire?" Nereida asked him once he followed the notion.

"I'm not the best, but I know the theory," Xander replied. "Do you? Because if so, be my guest and stop me from embarrassing myself."

"I can try. You know, there was a time when Oscar tried to start a bonfire, and terribly failed. He set himself on fire. It was the same day we got lost at sea."

"… What?" Xander asked, amused. He pushed his wet hair away. "Who's Oscar?"

"Oh, uh, so… it's a long story," she replied, again awfully hesitant.

"Yes?"

Nereida hesitated for a moment, looked down. "He's my ex-boyfriend. Broke up with me via text, as you say. He was…" she trailed off, with an awfully dreamy smile. So, she had joined the Selection as an act of revenge, Xander understood.

What was he meant to say— _I'm sure he missed out?_ That sounded too foreign—especially when Nereida Statten just reminded him of his younger sister. Instead, he offered her a practised press-ready smile, and headed to the cabin, to change.

When he came out, Veira and Jaira had already changed, and now were engaged in a happy conversation. When he stepped closer, he heard what they were talking about; Veira was happily chatting about stargazing and 'how little light pollution is in Whites'.

"Oooh! I love star-gazing!" Nereida cheered and joined the two girls.

"I guess the fire's up to me, then?"

"Yep!" Nereida replied. Good—that brief mood drop hadn't stayed.

He sighed, and turned to the camera team. "Please don't film this." He was fairly sure that they were filming it either way. However, he turned around and began working on the fire. It took his sweet time, but eventually, the heat stayed—just as the sun was beginning to approach the horizon.

"Good job," Jaira replied, sitting down next to him. "Do you do this a lot?"

"Not that much anymore, but I've always enjoyed camping."

"That's not very royalty-like."

"Do you have a list of 'royalty-like' things, Lady Jaira?"

Jaira leaned back, into the sand. Unlike Xander, she sat down on a towel. "Hmm… I don't know? I'm sure Kate could tell you, but it doesn't have the same aesthetics. Then again, so do politics and war, I assume…"

"What you're thinking about is Disney," Xander explained. "Cinderella didn't solve climate change in the twenty-first century either."

"That was an interesting time period. It proved the stupidity of humans quite well," Jaira admitted. "Do you like history?"

"History doesn't repeat, but it does rhyme," he quoted. "You can always learn from it."

"That's a good view point," Jaira complimented. If she thought more, he couldn't tell. "So, besides camping and history—what do you do for fun?"

Xander chuckled. "The first round is, quite literally, me running through all the hobbies I have."

"Deylin, Rosy and Harriet went to the market, do I remember that correctly?"

Xander nodded. "It's a fun place to be, and in the crowd, nobody recognises you. That sense of anonymity is fascinating."

"If you weren't a prince, what would you do?"

That would depend on his caste, but he wasn't about to bring such a complicated topic into a soft conversation like this. "If I really had a choice, then I would probably choose to do something with history, actually. Maybe philosophy? I could see myself going into the military again, though. It feels good to be able to protect people."

"Then we're the same," she replied. "I work in biochemistry—I-TEC's medicine division. You might protect humans from humans, but I protect them from something much smaller."

"How did that start?"

"I studied it at university, and after I finished my Bachelors' degree, I was accepted into the training programme at I-TEC. I've been there ever since; I'll get a job once I'm done, but what I do is essentially full-time employment with mentoring and less pay." She chuckled. "It still pays well enough."

That was good to hear.

"So, you worked at I-TEC during the Unrest too?"

"Yeah, that's when I started," she remembered, "I didn't work in medical research then—bioweapon development, but that gave me quite the nice pay rise, so that wasn't too bad."

Xander nodded. He didn't like I-TEC—too much power held by a non-government entity. However, Jaira's lack of emotional connection to bioweapon development (while probably something they wouldn't want on the Report) was good. She was able to detach herself from situations that may require sacrifice.

A good characteristic for a queen.

"It's interesting to speak to Anastasia about that; she's a bio-environmental engineering, so she deals with making predictions on the effects on the environment. Have you seen the cities in Sumner? The ones that were deserted?"

Xander's nod was hesitant. "I've dealt with them. Lady Isla comes from one. She mentioned a few details." Another decision he needed to make…

"We've never seen a whole city being taken over by nature again. If the people staying there left too, we would have an entirely new system building itself; it'd be fascinating to watch it grow. We could see if nature can actually reclaim it."

That alone—the science behind it and the researched information they could gain—was another positive point for abandoning the cities…

"There's a debate on whenever these cities should be reclaimed or not," Xander remembered.

Jaira nodded. "I remember that. Did you see the image of the bear in a McDonalds?"

He hadn't. "Is that because of the 'nature reclaiming the cities' thing?"

"Exactly. It's fascinating to watch."

"What do you think of the people that lived in these cities and don't want to wait until new ones are rebuilt?"

"I guess they have some sentimental value, but so much was destroyed, I wouldn't know if there was so much to be recovered. If we were to build new towns, we would be able to introduce a whole city filled with updated, modern technology. Some of these towns date back to the United States of America, and I'm sure you know what that means."

He did.

"The new technology would be better for the environment, cheaper and simply up to date, not thousands of years old."

"History would be lost."

"History would be _made_. We can always dig these cities out later, if we need to. Maps, records and everything are preserved online."

"After the sun flares, the global warming, the magnetic field change and everything, the internet was essentially destroyed. We are still recovering data from before that time period."

"We can always recover that later—thing about the mysteries of _nature_ , we could unveil! Considering how much humanity took from nature, shouldn't we do it justice?"

They should. Xander nodded. He glanced to the fire, by now big enough to roast marshmallows, and he waved to Nereida and Veira; both were still happily chatting about stargazing, he assumed. Maybe fashion, maybe Disney—who knew.

"Oh, are the marshmallows ready?" Nereida cheered, and jumped up. Veira, with a bright grin on her face, was happy to join them. The Selected from Bonita had already grabbed the marshmallow bag (and probably eaten a few with Veira), and now joined them. Veira followed, with the sticks.

Three, though, not four.

"Are you not eating?" Jaira asked, conspicuous.

"I'm on a diet," Veira replied. "I'm used to sleeping during the daytime. Getting back into a normal rhythm is stressful, and I'm gaining weight."

"You're in perfect shape," Xander insisted.

"Exactly—if even, you could do a bit more," Jaira added on, poking her.

Veira dodged. "As well, marshmallows aren't healthy. Go, eat. It's more left for you."

That was a good enough argument for Xander; they were in no position to force Veira to eat something that she didn't want to. He remembered Sophia's vegan phase; maybe Veira was vegetarian or something and didn't want to say it out loud for whatever reason. Point was—they had no right to decide.

They ate, more or less in silence (you need your mouth to eat), and although manners were rather quickly dropped and Nereida began chattering about why Billie Elliot was better than the Marvel reboot that she hadn't even seen, Xander leaned back and listened. Today was exhausting.

"How are you faring?" Veira asked eventually. "I do know you. You're not a people person. Not as much as Ernest, at least."

"I'm not as bad as Louis."

"That's true," Veira nodded with a smile. Now that she had slept, she seemed happier. Not as bubbly as Nereida or Kate (if anyone could beat that), but definitely more awake. She used one of the (now dry) towels as a jacket and was watching the flames. "Still—Sophy and Vicky were always more a people-type than you are. You're doing well."

"So are you. Aren't you usually waking up at this time?" Xander teased. He had only heard of Veira's sleep habits from Sophia, but that was enough.

"I'm getting there…" Veira chuckled. "Louis once said—he might pick that habit up to avoid people."

"Have you seen him around?" he was surprised. "Isn't he always hiding in the library?"

"Yes, of course. Have you not?"

"Not much, I must admit. He is at the meetings he is meant to be, but other than that? Not much."

"Maybe you're just a tad too busy with your work, Xander."

"It's necessary! The country doesn't run itself!"

Veira tilted her head. "You know, some of the girls talked about that before. Most agree that you shouldn't be doing both at the same time—the country and the Selection. That Adrian should come back."

He sighed. He _hated_ this topic. "… Sophia and Helena agreed with that." They all had spoken to his father, to no avail.

"Many do. Besides—"

"Oh! You guys!" Nereida rose, and called to the present Report staff. "You guys should join us! There's enough marshmallows for everyone!"

With that, their conversation was deemed over, but instead, the whole of the staff joined them—until they'd eventually head back, watch another terrible rom com (this time sad, chosen by Veira) and Xander found himself asleep first.

/ / /

 **Government corridor in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Irina Cavanah**

Dinner was over, and most girls were either heading to the Women's Room to watch a movie or study the content of their afternoon lessons. Irina wasn't. This had been looming in her head the whole time, and she needed answers—to questions she didn't entirely know yet.

Irina knew she wasn't particularly meant to be here. It wasn't the third floor—the floor that was off-limits—but it wasn't a place where the Selected were expected to be either. Yet, no one said anything, and she took that as an okay.

 _A wizard is never late, Irina._

She knocked at the door that had the inscription 'Victoria Belasko'. A local staff member already approached her, saying something along the lines of 'please, she's not available' or something. However, a 'come in' came from the inside and again, Irina decided to go with that.

Victoria Belasko, rebel leader and all, was sitting in one of the smaller offices of the government wing, over a bunch of papers and classified labels. Irina had to stop herself from cringing. As much as she trusted Xander, she did not trust Tori.

"Lady Irina," the brunette greeted her. She leaned back, crossed her legs and rose her eyes. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I could speak to you," she replied.

"I don't know. Can you?"

 _Fool of a Took._

Irina frowned. She wasn't here to play games. She wasn't going to complain either; instead she ignored it and considered her next words carefully. God—she didn't even have a plan on why exactly she was here in the first place. She wanted to know more—Tori's perspective. "Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

Tori rose her eyebrows. "Oh, I see what's going on."

"Can we?"

Tori stood up and nodded. "Not here though—there are always ears listening in this wing."

"Where then?" Irina asked. She crossed her arms.

Tori nods to the door, just taking a moment to close the folders she had been working on, and directed her out of the wing she had just entered. Irina followed, in silence, but noticed that people were still turning. Who actually knew about Tori's background? Did the King know? He had to, Irina thought.

Tori led her upstairs, leading Irina to hesitate—they weren't mean to be on the third floor. Tori, however, definitely noticed her and laughed amused. "Come on—nobody's gonna stop you if you look like you're meant to be here. The amount of times I've seen Schreave and forgot-how-the-royals-look-like here? How many cared? None. Unless you look like you're not meant to be here, nobody's stopping you. That's how I get in."

"You get in?" Irina rose an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Tori shrugged. "The rules say you need an official summoning by a royal to be here. Rules are made to be broken."

Of course, the rebel would say that. Irina had little else to expect. She frowned, but followed her to one of the doors at the end of the corridor. She stopped, noticing the guard in front of the door. He tilted his head.

"Excuse me, may I know what Lady Irina is doing here, Miss Belasko?"

"If you can explain to me—or the Crown prince—what is going on in Vic's head, then we'll be eternally grateful," Tori mocked without giving him a look. She waved Irina through, to one of the royal apartments.

Comparing them to the Selected's accommodation, it was a joke.

The door led to a large, free space, filled with flowers, paintings, and the soft sound of a violin. Irina assumed that the room she had just stepped into was at least the size of all the space that Irina called 'her room'. If Xander trusted Tori so much, and she, in theory, was his ex (Irina hadn't even dared to think about this), then was this her apartment? Xander's?

"Who's—"

The music stopped.

"Vicky, it's me, Tori. I dragged someone along, because I needed some private space. Hope you don't mind us," Tori called out in the same manner Evan had called when he come home so many years ago. Did he know about Tori?

Through one of the doors, previously left open, a young blonde woman in a wide, yellow chiffon dress and a terrible haircut. Princess Victoria, Irina concluded. The princess carried a violin in her hands, and glared at Irina as if she was an alien. Immediately, Irina curtsied.

"It's a pleasure, Your Highness. I hope we don't bother you," she spoke.

Victoria's eyes didn't move. "… Why are you here?"

"Xander told Irina about Jack, me and a few other things in the war, I assume."

Irina nodded. "Indeed. I would just like to hear another side of the story. Xander seemed quite… emotional."

"Emotional?" Tori replied, and fell on one of the couches. "Well, that's new. Why did he tell you?"

"A conversation led to the topic of intuition."

Tori rose her eyebrows. "Oh, I see, and then, about Jack, I assume?"

Irina nodded. "About that, yes."

"Why are you here," Victoria almost hissed. "Tori, why is she here. You—why are you helping them? I don't want them to steal Xanxan."

"What? Steal Xander? How? Also, what happened to your hair?"

"I cut it."

"Cut it? What? Why would you do that?"

"Because it was long, and I wanted to cut it." Victoria clenched her first.

Tori sighed. "Vicky, I told you that—"

"It's my decision, Tori," Victoria insisted. She crossed her arms, including the violin, in a futile attempt to look threatening. In no way did the pale, too-small-for-her-age princess look threatening—not to Irina who has seen the war, at least—but something in her respected the try. Victoria was trying to be strong. Having seen the consequences of soldiers in the war, Irina understood how difficult that was. "Anastasia and Jaira didn't say anything."

Irina rose her eyebrows. Anastasia and Jaira? These two were Selected, she knew. Why, she thought, had Victoria spoken to them? About what? When? She hadn't seen the princess, and honestly doubted that many others had.

"You spoke to the Selected?" Tori asked, surprised. "Why did you do that?"

"I wanted to. I wanted to know why they're here—why they plan to steal Xanxan."

Irina's smile was a mixture of amusement and confusion. Victoria's childish innocence was, in many ways, adorable, but it was a naïve innocence that she didn't like to see in the princess. "Excuse me interrupting, your highness, but I can assure you, nobody is planning to _steal_ your brother."

"Anastasia and Jaira said that too."

"There you go," Tori nodded.

"Jack said that he wanted to help. You did. Now everyone tells me that you killed countless lives. You can't trust people's words."

Irina tilted her head. That wasn't false, but the idea of stealing the prince was even stranger. She saw the princesses' feelings behind that, but logically thinking, it didn't make much sense. There was no way they could steal the crown prince. Win his heart, but that didn't mean stealing him.

"Your Highness, maybe stealing isn't the correct way of phrasing it. A more adequate way might be to say that one of us will join your family—rather than stealing your brother and taking him away, you'll get a new sister."

How would Victoria react to Sophia marrying someone? Princesses of the Illéa family tended to marry foreign royalty and leave the country. If it wasn't for the war and the effect it had on Victoria, that would have been her fate too…

"A new sister?" Victoria asked. "I don't need a new sister. Sophy is perfectly fine."

"Not to replace her, but just a new one, if you understand?"

Tori hid her face behind her hands and tried to, without success, tried to stop herself from laughing. Both girls, Irina and Victoria, turned to her; a confused cringe filled Irina's face. What in the world was going on there?

"I'm sorry, Vicky, but it sounds like the biggest challenge of the Selection isn't Xander's awkwardness but yours."

"That's good!" Victoria called out. "Then nobody can take Xanxan away!"

"I doubt that'll happen, Vicky."

"You also said that a haircut would be bad. It wasn't!"

Irina titled her head. "I doubt there's much to convince her," she told Tori.

The rebel leader, in return, nodded. "I know. Vicky, dearie, I know that you think Irina will steal Xander and all, but I can assure you, I just dragged her here because we'd like to have a private conversation. You're free to stay, but do you mind?" That didn't sound like the order in which she should ask.

"Go ahead. I'm staying."

Tori smiled. "Sweet. So, Irina. What would you like to know?"

Irina's mind blanked. As much as she liked to have plans, she didn't right now; right now, she just wanted a little bit more—there had to be more. "Why did you join the rebels in the first place?"

Tori huffed. "I was a teacher. Low docile school. If you saw the types of schools the kids of the lower castes went to, you'd understand why there's no improvement. Why the country is not moving forward. A chain is only so strong as its strongest part. I wanted a change."

"A change with bullets and death?"

"I don't agree with their methods anymore. They didn't work. I believed into them, once, because nothing else worked. I agreed with them, I agreed that the government was doing a crappy job, but with what I'm seeing now? I see that they're trying their best. I know what Project Omega is."

"Project what?"

Tori shrugged. "Highly classified. Don't ask. My turn. Why did _you_ join the Selection?"

"It's a platform—a good platform, and I'm interested in politics. Why not?"

"Well then," Tori replied, "do me the favour and take care of these schools if you win. Although, with how awkward Xander can be, I doubt that'll work."

"He isn't _that_ awkward. Anyone would be, if they were in their position."

"Aha," Tori laughed. "He takes his time to warm up with people, yes."

Irina leaned back. Tori had warmed up enough with Xander for him to consider her a (form of?) past relationship. She frowned, looking at the brunette. She was still laughing and unlike Irina—whose posture was straight and still resembled a soldier, not the lady she was now meant to be—she was relaxed, leaned back on one arm and would be a nightmare to Umbridge.

"What is your relationship with the Crown Prince, exactly?"

Tori pursed her lips. She, too, frowned, and glanced to the princess who hadn't moved an inch from the doorframe. The violin hadn't moved from her hand either—Victoria looked like she had forgotten it. The rebel leader remained silent and looked to the mosaic-pattern carpet.

"It's difficult."

Irina was not happy with such an answer. As a Selected in the Crown Prince's Selection, she reasoned, she had the right to hear about their relationship—especially considering their background. "Difficult?"

"Kiddo," Tori began, "if you ran a major base of the people that killed his mother, then, yes, your relationship is going to be difficult. You have no reason to be envious, though. I can promise that. I wouldn't be interested in the crown either way; I'm sure that Victoria would be happy to assure you that I'm a mess with etiquette."

Whenever that was enough for her, Irina couldn't say. She hadn't expected Tori to have had feelings when the whole scenario started—although, from all that 'awkward muffin' talk, she could assume that Xander had some—but she hoped for more of a reassurance that Tori had no interest—in any way—in the Crown Prince.

 _Men_ , she thought. _Such fools, sometimes. And no living man I am._

"There's enough proof that I worked for the rebels if you look into my background too, so outside 'she's actually more or less a political hostage and working for us in increasing our defence while also considering whenever the rebels had valid points'," Tori took a deep breath, "I doubt Xander wants to associate with me."

All these reasons were logical, and that was good, but they didn't convince Irina. Not when love was a complicated, confusing subject. "I have to admit that I find nothing one-hundred percent convincing."

"Aww," Tori mocked. "I promise you; I've got no interest in guys. Does that help you?"

 _Oh, okay_. Irina was proud to say that she didn't react a lot. She didn't give away a lot.

"What else would you like to know?"

Irina hesitated. She had heard the story from Xander, and doubted that he had told her anything but the truth. He had no reason to, and he _was_ her friend. She knew why Tori had come to join, understood that she—or her alias, Raven—took the blame for the Queen's death because in no way could the Crown admit that a traitor had been so close to the heir apparent, and heard that Tori had no feelings for Xander.

Therefore, she answered, "No, I do not. Thank you for your time, Miss Belasko."

"Oh, so that's how it is?" Tori laughed. "Hey, Vicky, since I'm already here—wanna watch a movie and distract me from work?"

"No," Victoria deadpanned. "The country doesn't run itself."

"That," Irina commented and rose, "is an admirable attitude, Your Highness. Illéa can be glad to have you as their princess." The words weren't empty, but more a response to Tori's mockery, but Victoria smiled at her. A win, she realised. Victoria had to have more of a child's mind and love compliments. Irina maybe wasn't the best with children, but she understood the value of words—and their effect. She wouldn't steal Xander, she knew, and henceforth spoke, "Is it true that you were actively following the King, even as a young child?"

Victoria's smile grew to a beaming one. "Yes," she hummed, "and I did very well."

"I'm sure," Irina dared to suggest, "that Xander would love your help now. If I may suggest doing so, you would be able to make sure nobody can steal him too."

Victoria opened her mouth to respond, but hesitated. The smile returned and her hands, including violin, disappeared behind her back. The princess stepped closer. "I like the way you think! Look, Tori, she has a brain—unlike you!"

" _Excuse me_?!" Tori laughed out. "Well, Irina, I'm gonna guess you're welcome here again, so good job."

"Lady Irina," Victoria, happy to fulfil the role of the dutiful princess now that she was doing well, declared, "you are indeed welcome here again."

Irina curtsied. "It would be a pleasure. Please do excuse me, though."

Victoria nodded—a dismissal, Irina decided—and the Selected headed towards and through the door from the beautiful apartment. She took just enough time to hear the princesses' excited voice. "Look! Tori! I did it! She thought of me as a princess! Sophy will be proud! I told you! I can do this! And I even have a reason why and when I can talk to Xanxan!"

"Yeah, no, not with that hairdo. I'll have someone called in…" Tori sighed, amused.

/ / /

Irina was aware that the faint trust she built with Princess Victoria could very well be lost by her knocking onto the still-lit office door, but she understood that Xander was not utterly bound to Victoria, worried or not. The prince, upon hearing her asking to come in, voiced his agreement. Irina smiled amused when she noticed his sea salt-stained hair.

"I believe that our teachers wouldn't be too pleased to see you like this," she pointed out. "When did you come back?"

Xander's eyes moved to the clock on the wall as he gestured for her to sit down. "Not too long ago. It was dark when we arrived in Los Angeles, I assume."

"Assume? So, occupied with the date?" Irina teased.

"I was asleep."

"So boring?"

Xander shook his head. "I'm just not a people person. Doing three ladies at the same time is time efficient, but also tiring."

"Understandable," Irina replied. She nodded to the game of chess that they had begun but strayed away from. "Whose turn was it?"

"I believe mine, but I couldn't say for sure. Either way, I'm too tired for games of the mind, I'm afraid." The fatigue was, indeed, written on the prince's expression. Irina hid her disdain about the prince's stress—her love life, evidently, was less difficult and did not include dating an undercover agent of the enemy and the Selection in itself was difficult, but she did not like that stress.

"How do you feel about the ladies? We spoke about the first one, if I remember correctly."

"It was nice to have another moment to catch up with Veira," Xander admitted. "Lady Nereida was like a fish in the water. Lady Jaira and I had an interesting conversation about the abandoned cities in Sumner too. What is your opinion on the matter? Should they be rebuilt, or abandoned?"

"Human attachment tends to be a fatal flaw," Irina replied. "These people may have memories in these cities, but they are destroyed and filled with crime. Reclaiming them would be more work—and cost—than necessary. New cities would allow better, more efficient technology, and the international community would be reminded that while we might be hurt, we can rebuild ourselves. We are strong."

Xander scanned her, and Irina didn't move. She had seen that glance before, and was glad to see that Xander's tired expression grew into a faint smile. "I see," he began. "You're right. That's a good point."

"Have you actually put a stop to the works?"

He shook his head. "I didn't want to put a stop to it without a definitive decision—and I wanted to speak to the Governor of Sumner too."

"Then there's nothing to do with that, is there?" Irina smiled. "If Lady Isla is so concerned, I'm sure she'll be able to focus a charitable project onto that at some point. What points did Lady Jaira make, if I may ask?"

"She mentioned the unique chance of researching if, and how, nature reclaims the area over the years."

"Are you going to put funds into that?" Irina rose her eyebrow. "Xander, pardon my bluntness, but you have a country to rebuild, and a Selection to host. How much does it cost again?"

Xander simply nodded. "I'm aware. Until the cities are built and the people living in the abandoned ones, I won't make any move. If Lady Jaira—or anyone—is to request the permission to set up a research centre, I'm glad to grant it, but the government won't give out any funds."

"If she reaches the Elite, she can do that as a project. There's such a thing, isn't there?"

"If she reaches the Elite, yes. It's the Queen's Project." Xander cringed. "But please, don't remind me of these steps just yet."

Irina smiled. "I won't, I promise. Any further realisations about today's date?"

Xander rose an eyebrow. "That I hate watching romantic movies?"

"Oh? You are missing out, Your Royal Highness!"

"Pardon me?" Xander tilted his head. "If I remember correctly, you were the one to insist I must watch the Lord of the Rings."

"Oh, yes," Irina chuckled, "my precious indeed. You need to."

"I cannot say that I feel attracted to any of them, though. I see that father was lucky, but I cannot rely on such. I need someone the people would like, who can rule and whatnot. I feel bad for the girls, I must admit, because they seemed to quite enjoy themselves—for the most." He blushed.

"For the most?"

"Do you remember how I told you about Ernest and Louis marrying as well?" Irina nodded. "I have my hopes up for Veira and Louis. Her crush on Louis when we were younger was noticeable, and it seems to have persisted."

"So, Veira is out for you?"

"Veira would understand how to be a royal," Xander pointed out, "although I cannot see her ruling. Mother understood the protocol, but she was too busy being in love. She couldn't put emotions and logic apart, I'm afraid."

Irina could do that.

"As for Jaira, I do have hopes. Nereida appears to have joined because of a former relationship breaking up, but she was a pleasure to have around, so I doubt I will have her eliminated—just yet, at least."

 _Oh, why that?_

"You're contradicting yourself, Fool of a Took. Jaira and Veira could be Queens, but Nereida is a pleasure to be around?"

"To me, she is a friend, if even. The Selection is meant to be about love—why not the love of friends, if anything? I doubt she has a chance to win… What do you think?"

 _A fool of a Took you are, Xander Illéa._

"A day may come when I'll think Selection is about love but it is not this day."

"Is that a reference?"

"A day may come when I stop quoting Lord of the Rings but it is not this day."

"I'll assume this is a reference."

"It is," Irina smiled, "but do remember, Xander. Even the smallest person can change the course of the future."

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **Next Chapter (I actually remembered lmao):** _»Don't be senseless«_


	32. Chapter 31

**Fallout**

 _The last chapter featured Xander's date with Nereida, Veira and Jaira. Xander caught up with old friend Veira, conversed with Jaira about the Sumner issues and wondered if Nereida wasn't hiding a little bit. Meanwhile, Irina learned more about Tori Belasko-and met up with Xander once more._

 **Chapter 31**

 _»Don't be senseless«_

 **Victoria's bedroom in the palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Victoria of Illéa**

Victoria's hand clenched.

She rose her head and looked into the mirror. Earlier this morning, Tori had organised a professional hairdresser to come. She hadn't moved for the whole duration of the dry cut. Her neck still felt stiff. A lot in her wanted to return to hiding in her room, playing the violin and losing herself in the music. Again and again playing the same piece—repetition, but she needed the knowledge of what would come.

But no—she needed to make sure nobody would steal Xanxan away from her. She had to make it really really sure. And therefore, the youngest of the Illéa siblings stepped away from the mirror and into the hallway that still felt different from her home. Down the stairs, around the corners—she knew the path right. So often—countless times—had she heard her father walking down the stairs, launched herself at him and declared that she would come with him.

Victoria was a mature woman—she always had been. Even with ten years old, she sat silently and attentively in meetings that Xander found boring. With her now-short hair styled adequately—like Sophia would want her to—she stepped down the grand staircase in her ivory ballerina shoes and floating chiffon skirt.

Down, down, down.

Through the hallway, turn left, turn right, open the door.

That's where dad's office was. That's where she'd find him, working. That's where she'd declare that she would come along today.

The old, white door, however, was closed. Closed meant that he was in a meeting, but he wouldn't mind if she sneaked in. He never did. The old white door, however, was also locked. Locked meant that he wasn't here, Victoria concluded. He barely ever locked it—not within the time she was awake, at least—but maybe that was one of the many things that have changed.

 _Be the princess Irina saw in you, Vicky!_

Therefore, if she couldn't go there, she would go to Xander. Then, rather than dragging dad along, she would need to speak to him and warn him, on her own. Victoria could do that. She was strong. Tori had said so. She nibbled on a strand of hair as she walked over to the other old, white door that led to the office that Xanxan used when he worked on his 'learning to be king' homework.

She didn't knock, just entered into the office.

Xander Illéa looked up, mouth half-open, and stopped mid-motion when he recognised his sister. Dutifully, Victoria closed the door and took a seat by the side of his desk. Curious, she leaned over and fished one of the papers. She had done this before. She could do this again. Irina was right. If she did this, she could save Xanxan from being stolen.

Just like Tori saved her.

"Vic?" her brother finally spoke. "Can I help you?"

"What's this about?" Victoria asked while beginning to read. Ministry of Infrastructure, the logo on the top right corner said. It was the Sumner ministry, and the report spoke about the building of new cities in Sumner, costs and contracts that had been made.

"It's a report about the rebuilding of Sumner," Xanxan replied. "They're struggling to find the number of workers required. Vic, did something happen—?"

"Rebuilding?"

"Many cities and towns in Sumner were destroyed beyond usage."

" _Cities?_ " Victoria's eyes grew big. How could that be? How could a city be destroyed! Victoria imagined the skyline of Los Angeles and New York that her mother loved so much. Never ever could she imagine that to be possible. "Why—how did that happen? What did the military do?"

"When the air force was hacked, it was compromised—partwise. The rebels stole aircrafts and weapons, including bombs."

The rebels stole them? Victoria froze. Jack. Andrew. William. They all had said that they were in the right. Even Tori had, initially. Until she changed to the bad guys—the government. Victoria was one of the bad guys, she reminded herself. She had to side with them, but they were the bad guys. She had seen their videos. Read their brochures. Seen their messages.

"Vicky?"

"I thought the rebels were..."

Xanxan's eyes dropped down. "Vicky, you know that the rebels killed many people? That they stopped Project Omega from happening, with their war? They aren't the good guys. They had good intentions, in some ways, but chose worse means that we do." He knew. He knew what she thought.

Vicky looked down. "But…"

"They stole the families away from countless people. They destroyed their homes. We don't know how to help these homeless people anymore. We're trying, but they destroyed too much and made places unsafe."

"Train the homeless people," Victoria replied. "Train them as builders."

"Where? By whom? Where would we get the money from?"

Victoria paused. "What are the numbers?"

"Some of these people aren't Sevens. That isn't what they are meant to do."

"Start a new Project Omega phase, then. Use that funding. Make them Omegas."

Xander shook his head. "Vicky, the last time we did that, it ended up terrible. A whole economy went chaotic, and it reached the boundaries of the test area. Reversing the effects was impossible."

"The people will be Eights if you leave them be. There won't be anyone who can live in your new cities if you don't try, at least!"

Xanxan leaned back. "I'll consider it, alright? Why did you come here? Did something happen?"

"I want to tag along again." Victoria went to business. "Where's dad? I can't find him."

Xanxan's sad eyes didn't change. They should change, Victoria believed. She was getting better! She was proving it! No reason to be all sad because of the nightmares that were always haunting her in her sleep and the images that she couldn't forget and the cries and the booms and the explosions and the dust and the cold and the hunger and the fear and the—

"I assume that he'll be in his study," Xanxan replied. "Vicky, you know that dad isn't working in the government anymore, do you?"

"What? Why would he do that? Dad's the King! It's his duty!"

Xanxan shook his head. "He isn't feeling well. He's sick. It's similar to you and your nightmares. I'm running the country."

Victoria hesitated to say anything. Logically, it made sense, but there was no no no no no way that dad was in chaos and misery like she was. Dad was laughing and happy and always there for them when they needed someone to talk to or to play with, he wasn't the one to wake up in the image of a cage.

"That's not dad."

"Things changed."

"I don't like it."

"Nor do I."

Victoria clenched her first. "I want the old dad back."

"Me too, Vicky. Me too."

"Then I'll show dad that you can get better from the nightmares! I'll tag along with you, then."

The Illéan Crown Prince tilted his head. It wasn't the 'I don't understand what you're talking about' way, but the 'No, Ernie, you cannot eat your shoe' way. Almost as if her suggestion—well, her plan because she was going to do it—was ridiculous. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea, Vicky."

"Why!?"

"What if you have another one of these episodes?"

"Then I learn to deal with them!"

"There's always this cognitive behavioural therapy thing. That's much less damaging, Vicky…"

"Well," Victoria crossed her arms. She looked into her brother's eyes. "Fight me. I'll stay."

Xander shook his head and pushed his head into his arms. He looked tired (if that was possible) either of the topic or in general, maybe both. For a moment, he didn't move, and Victoria began thinking of other arguments for a futile argument. She'd stay either way. Xander, however, looked up and said, "Tori is a bad influence on you."

"Fight me," Victoria repeated.

"Alright, you can stay. However," he emphasized, "if anything happens, that's it. I don't want to see you outside the Palace without a guard either. A guard will come along too. I don't want to risk your safety."

"Deal." Victoria replied. "Where's your guard?"

"Palace guard."

Victoria gave her best to mirror Tori's 'rise one eyebrow' gesture. "Oh?"

"We can discuss security later, alright? I need to get through these reports."

"You're still a slow reader," Victoria noted.

Xanxan cringed, but did not respond. Victoria therefore smiled—her victory. Victoria's victory. She leaned back and snatched another one of the reports, proudly reading into Xander's face that she had won. It took her a hot minute to remember that she was here to protect Xanxan from the brother-stealing Selected, and by the time she did, she was occupied with reading through the reports of the Ministry of Education, about possible means of educating about the Great Unrest.

And after the reports and replies, they headed out to a meeting with advisors that Victoria gave the same polite smile she had known before. She took her seat, on Xander's left, and listened quietly to all the long, difficult words said.

It was only when Xander told her that he would be taking time for a lunch break and that he would prefer to be alone in his office that Victoria agreed to leave him be. Knowing that he would be off for lunch for at least an hour, she decided not to spend the time merely waiting, but to head back to the third floor and try to find her father. After all, even if she was to shadow Xanxan, she had to talk to her father.

They needed to make sure nobody would steal Xanxan.

She, slower now, opened the door to her father's study. There was, to her surprise, no footman present to announce her, but when she had been younger, she had come to her parents often enough. Inside her father's sitting room, she could hear the sound of a teacup being placed on a saucer.

"I agree," her father said to someone. Did he have guests, or was that mummy? Probably mummy, she thought.

"I tried my best to protect Katheryn from the war, and while I dare to say that I succeeded, my son, Augustus… He didn't. He could have backed out—there were medical concerns that made him eligible to avoid conscription but he didn't… I…" The voice did not belong to mummy. Definitely not. It lacked the hum—the musical note and cheerfulness. "I understand why the conscription was there, but could I let him go? No. I still feel like it was Carl's fault, sometimes. He always spoke about honour and all… Yet, could we fight them with honour, when they had none?"

Silence fell.

"Honour, yes. They definitely had none."

She could hear a sigh. It wasn't the way mummy or daddy sighed. _It must be the stranger_ , Vicky thought. "I'm so sorry. What happened to Victoria, it should never have happened. Neither should this all else. It's unfortunate."

"Unfortunate… yes." Adrian sighed. "I wish there was something I could do about Lys that wouldn't be taken as post-mortem propaganda..."

Post-mortem? What did that mean? Victoria knew the constant discussions about her mother's image ( _ridiculous_ , in her opinion—mummy was great) but why were they coming up now? The rebels hated her, yes, but that was one of the few things where even Tori couldn't convince her… Mummy was good. She meant good. At least to Vic.

"Dad?" she therefore asked. "What are you talking about?"

This stranger woman was not mummy. Mummy, however, was always with dad. That didn't make sense. Was she the _actual_ reason why daddy wasn't at work anymore? Why Xanxan wasn't doing that anymore? Was it her fault? It had to be. What else was there?

Logically, Xander had lied to her, to protect her from this woman. This stranger. This whoever-she-is-its-not-mummy.

"Victoria?" her father asked, surprised. "Darling, what do you—what are you—" He was as white as a ghost. The stranger-woman wasn't threatening him? What if she was like the people that came to Tori and told her not to be friends with her because they'd lie to her, even if they were happyーeven though they were no because they lied to Xanxan which is why Tori said that she knew that because she knew all and she was a good person and she didn't lie to Vicky.

"Go away from dad!" Victoria, without Tori to protected her, could only call out.

"Pardon me…?" The stranger-woman-that's-not-mum rose. Too fast. No. Way too fast. "Your Royal Highness, I can assure you I have no ill intention."

"Why are you here?"

"Victoria, please, calm—" Adrian broke off, and turned away from her. He looked distraught. He was distraught! He was scared by Lilian. That had to be it!

Upon Victoria's call though, no matter what stranger-woman-that's-not-mummy had done, guards arrive inside, worried about their King. Good, Victoria realised. They were safe within the palace. Safe. Safe. The guards would protect them. The guards will protect them. The guards weren't like Jack and Andrew and William and the bad people.

However, even though the guards were here to protect him, Adrian waved him off. "Just her having another episode," she heard someone mutter. This wasn't an episode; Victoria knew how they were and she could clearly see that this woman was not good. She was bad bad bad bad bad bad.

"Go away from daddy."

"Victoria, this is enough," Adrian forced out. Angry. Unhappy. Why? Why was he angry? The woman-that-wasn't-mummy was bad!

"I think…" Lillian forced out now. She sounded uncomfortable. Good. "I should leave," and so she left. Dad was safe.

There was, however, coldness in her father's expression. Void. Dislike. Sadness. Why? Why was he doing that? Vicky saved him! "Victoria, I think it's better for you to leave as well." To one of the guards, he added now, he said, "do please accompany her to Miss Belasko, or Xander."

 _What? Why? She was here to talk!_

"Dad, no!" Victoria therefore insisted. "I want to talk to you!"

"Victoria, it's not the best time, I… I… I want to… please leave I need to…"

"Why aren't you at work? Is it that strange-woman-that-isn't-mummy? Is the threatening you, like the—"

Adrian balled his fist, like Andrew and William when they were angry and shouting and scary and things got cold and dark and void and scary and— "Victoria, don't be senseless!"

"But why don't we get try to get better together. We could—"

Like Jack and Andrew and William and even Tori, they escorted her out.

/ / /

 **Hallways of the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Rowan Johansson**

Rowan, next to Leda who was skimming through her notes, glanced at the whiteboard. The lesson on economics was easy to Leda, but difficult to Rowan who left school early. Her siblings weren't in class (thank god, Annie would be a nightmare) but together with Isla's niece under the care of a palace governess. It costed both girls a lot of the money they received as compensation, but knowing what the checks would be used for at home, Rowan didn't mind.

She hadn't handed Leda the other paper that she had been writing, but knowing the stockbroker, she had seen it. Leda chose to remain quiet, and Rowan was happy about that.

" _Hi, dad. It's been a while_ ," she had written. " _I feel like I lost track of time, but things feel good. You know, Owen and Annie are doing alright and I'm too. Not much has happened in the Selection since I last wrote, but it's not like we already discussed about the slow progress of things. Before the lessons today, Zarah was talking about going home a lot. She only came for the caste, everyone knows that. I wonder if the royals do. Sophia has to know; I'm sure Umbridge tells her everything. I was thinking about leaving too, you know. Annie loves it here, but I'm a Three now. I could adopt them and Owen could become an engineer, like he dreams to be. If it wasn't for the additional money I can earn, I would. It feels empty. I barely remember what we are doing every day, and I'm always with them and Leda. It's like we are doing nothing of importance."_

Because Rowan was reading the letter, she didn't notice girls leaving. In fact, she only came to look up when Leda handed back her economics notes and whispered the names of the leaving girls. "Nereida, Tessa, Harriet, Veira." Miss I-don't-know-the-rebels, the horse jockey, the brand-deals-rich-kid and the ever-asleep-One.

"What's with them?" Rowan asked, before seeing them leave. Harriet and Veira (who looked as sleepy as always) were quietly talking, and Nereida seemed to talk on a very uncomfortable Tessa. Not as uncomfortable as Rosy when they had done the camera work, but still uncomfortable. "Where are they going?"

"I'm not sure," Leda admitted. She had spoken to Minnie and Harriet a bit, about economics and business, but the conversations had run into the sand when Minnie returned to Sawyer to talk about night clubs and Harriet had trailed off to fashion. Rowan knew; she had been next to them.

" _Even though I share interests with many girls, I find myself only with Leda. There are definitely fixed friend groups. If Leda was to leave (which I doubt though, she's so much more proficient than I am) then I'd be alone. Maybe I'd be able to join Isla and her niece, but it's not the same. Leda listens. She genuinely listens, you know? Like you did, but it's different. She takes action. You did too, but she does it different. It's like she knows strategies I couldn't even think off…_ "

"I believe that someone mentioned something about charity work. They can't take all twenty-five of us, apparently."

"Isn't there a group for the Italian's visit with that?"

" _Do you remember the announcement about the Italians visiting? It feels like eons ago, but we haven't heard anything but a vague outline. We are meant to have weeks, but what do weeks do if we don't have any time?"_

"I believe so," Leda agreed. "Besides… oh."

She fell silent when Jaira Phillips of Whites, the bio-chemist from I-TEC, rose and stepped to the white board. She clapped once, then twice, to gain the chatting girls' attention. They had a break now, with Umbridge gone, but most stayed to chat.

"I'm sorry to bring this up," Jaira began, "but it'll come up eventually and I believe having discussed it with everyone beforehand will be of value."

"Not everyone is here," Sawyer Roth, the DJ from Fennley pointed out. "Nereida, Veira, Harriet and Tessa are missing. They literally just left."

"They won't come back until in the evening either," Cilla added on. The singer-songwriter was close to Tessa; Rowan knew that. In the rare occurrence that she left Leda to go out horse-riding, she often found them in the stables.

Jaira's expression didn't falter. Rowan turned aside, to look at Anastasia who was close to her, she believed, and she looked down onto her own papers. "I'll be honest," the bio-chemist replied. She took the whiteboard marker, "predominantly, they fall into the category 'cause' of this. I don't want to invoke a fight."

"You are about to begin talking about them though. Back-talking is kinda' what starts drama," Zarah noted. Rowan was surprised that she listened. Akin to rebels in teenage high school dramas, she refused to ever listen in class.

"I'm aware," Jaira repeated unphased. "They remain to be a bit of the cause though. I doubt they are starting it, but they are the cause. It's like you could argue that the royal family was the cause of the Unrest, but they did not start it."

Rowan huffed. That was debatable. If you fly thrice to Europe in one week, on taxpayer money while also messing up the economy in a whole area of your country to 'test something', then yes, things went down. Fast.

"What is this about?" Andreia, with a frown, inquired. She didn't like the backtalking either, Rowan concluded.

"Preferential treatment. This isn't a callout or an offense to them. I highly doubt they—" Jaira gestured. "—pay the royal family or similar. I just want to bring this up."

"In what kind of case?" Deylin wondered. "I haven't noticed that much."

Jaira took a pause to think for a moment. "Take this as example. The Report." She scribbled said word onto the whiteboard. "There are countless analyses of screen time online. You can find them all over the place. I cross-referenced them with Anastasia. Nereida Statten has almost double the screen time others have."

The reactions among the twenty-one girls left were expectable. Negativity. Even if the girls here for genuine fame had almost all left, they all took it personal. Rowan couldn't help but feel heavy too. Money, that was why they had come too. The caste change. Zarah and Rowan herself. The experience itself, maybe too. Kate and Ami were here for that. All things that wouldn't change depending on screen time, but Rowan _felt_ the air becoming heavier. She felt the negativity drop into the room. The agreement of 'this is unfair', even if no one here (just maybe Cilla) was here for that. Influence—Harriet, Leda and Minnie maybe—they all had that now. They had, within the few days since the first elimination, seen the reports of 'see what the eliminated are doing now!' and all of them were doing well. That was why she wrote to dad that she considered leaving too. The palace felt almost empty.

Rowan had enough reason to stay. Annie loved it. Owen loved it. The money was good.

Yet, with the knowledge about the doubled screen time, she felt heavy-hearted. She had enough reasons to stay outside fame, but this was unfair. Rowan hated unfairness. Inequality. She had enough of that in her life. She didn't want others to have it. She didn't want Annie and Owen to have it.

" _Dad, you know, there are things I can't control here. What we do. What happens to us and all. I don't like that. I feel like a bird caged. It's a pretty cage, but a cage nonetheless. This isn't the place where I want Owen and Annie to be_."

"The Nereida content maybe was interesting to watch and all," Jaira began, "and Nereida is well-received and all, but that doesn't mean that it's not fair."

Rowan saw Rie frowning. She couldn't imagine Rie caring too much about that—the cynical and practical type she was—but Rie was among the top of the ranking, so she had nothing to complain. So was Isla though, and she looked like she was about to murder Sophia or whoever was in charge of this. Probably Sophia. "What do you mean with 'well-received'?"

"The way the programme featuring her is written, she appeals to the lower castes because she's a Five and really pretty, happy and the Cinderella the Selection fairy tale is about, but the upper classes like her too. The questions are tailored so that she appeals to them. Talk about how nice everyone is, how she never imagined that life in the upper class can be hard but how much she admires those who do it, and how grateful she is nonetheless. She talks about how she loves her job and that—"

"Ends in the conclusion that she supports the caste system, that keeps the elite in place," Isla finished. "I mean, they could—"

Zarah rose her hand, but interrupted Isla either way. "Just for those who didn't watch the Report—what exactly was going on? Can we watch a rebroadcast to keep everyone on the line?" she looked around. "I can't be the only one who watched _Action Bust The Movie_ instead of it."

"You are," Rie commented. "The rest of us cares for what's going on in the country."

"Are you turning into Nereida too?" Ami, Isla's close friend, giggled. Ami was a paradox to Rowan. She stayed with a Six and a Seven, cringed at etiquette, but she was a Two, and the older sister of an athlete recognised nationally.

"No, but you hear all the stuff either way. Might as well spend my time doing better stuff."

Jaira was quick to react. Seamless, she connected her laptop to the projector and opened the website with the Selection Meta Ranking they has seen the other day. Rowan managed to get a glimpse—just a small one but a glimpse—of the top of the meta-ranking. The top three—Nereida at top, followed by Irina and Rie. Veira must have dropped out, Rie dropped down and Irina entered the top. Was it so important? No, Rowan told herself. Merely arbitrary popularity rankings, just as important as fashion brand deals or music charts.

She couldn't help but wonder where she was though. Did everyone think that way? She glanced to Leda, who hadn't spoken a word yet. Never ever would she, she believed.

"Where do you think you are?" she asked Leda, as casual as she could.

"Twenty." Leda's response was fast. "You are on nine, by the way. People live for the fact that you've got your siblings here. I'm just a random business person, far too 'up to the point'. Ironically, that's what they say about Irina too. If it wasn't for that teary 'oh my god my brother is alive' interview scene, she'd be down to twenty too."

Rowan remembered the interview from _the Report_. At the time, she had admitted that it was good from the Crown to admit that they messed up with the death notices and all, but now, thinking of it, it could just be another sign of favouritism. No one else had been asked if they were in a situation as such.

Of course, Rowan had thought about it too. If her father was still alive somewhere…

" _You know, dad, the more I think about it, it feels like everything feels void and empty because I don't look enough. Leda has found politics and little whispers already. Farming, horse-riding or music won't help me get there here. I admire her for that, but… it's sad that a thing 'about love', as they like to claim, is riddled with politics and power games_. _There is nothing I can do to join the game._ "

The Report video begun. "Now, Lady Nereida, if you don't mind," In the video, Prince Ernest had taken a comfortable couch in the Women's Room. Most of them, Annie and Isla included, had been there. "Would you start with an introduction?"

Jaira paused. "To start, we got a lot less of Ernest for the others, and more of a headshot, rather than the medium shot here."

The video went on, cutting to her face. "Sure!" Nereida hummed. "I'm Nereida Statten, from Bonita! I live in a pretty town at the seaside and work as ballerina—that means wake up, eat, dance, sleep, repeat. I love the ocean, stargazing and getting lost on sea."

Back to medium frame the video went. Jaira's narration faded into the background as Rowan frowned. "Why don't you go on about that?" Ernest laughed, almost as if he knew the story. Isla did, but that was because she had seen the Report.

"I once went to watch the sunset at the horizon with a friend, on a boat. We stayed here and watched the Stars then, but we didn't notice that we had gone too far off shore. We had nothing but two Ruder, and no idea what to do. Fortunately, my family was friends with a fisher nearby and had noticed us getting lost—but only after said friend falling into the water twice and suggesting to become mermaids. It sounds scary if I tell it like that, but it's just a fun memory!"

"It does sound fantastic."

Rowan couldn't pinpoint what it was. Something, however, was different with these two. The conversations with the prince had flown well for everyone, but here was a connection, not just him making talking easy. The video went on and on.

"What do you like most about the Selection?"

"The people. I've met so many people from all kinds of different walks of life. At home, there are great people but I've known them all my life. Here? So many more! And it's fascinating to learn about what's outside my home. I've never been out of Bonita, so seeing what the world has to offer has made me appreciate Illéa so much more." Nereida paused. "You know, I used to always think that the rich people had it easy, but coming here made me realise that what I saw when performing was only the half. There is so much you need to think about here, my head already hurts!" Ernest chuckled. "It's made me appreciate home a lot more, because I don't need to think about what fork to use! It's ridiculous, I say, but also it makes sense, you know? With so many different people and so many important things decided here, it makes sense to have things so arranged. Nobody can insult someone by accident if there are written rules. It's cool. It's nothing I would ever think about, even if these rules—in some way—exist in the ballet too. It's amazing to see the parallels if you think about them, because there are so many!

Rowan frowned. She didn't doubt that Nereida felt this way, but knowing the ballerina, she wouldn't have come up with that. Maybe "the food is good" or simply "so many great people" but this sounded rehearsed. "Someone wrote a script for that," she spoke up.

Jaira pauses. "Hm? What do you mean?"

Kate and Rosy began quietly whispering as Rowan repeated her thoughts out loud. Kate rose her hand, but in the same fashion as Zarah, just interrupted Rowan. "Rosy—hm? Not Name you? Too late—said the same thing. It's predictable. Next up is that she'll talk about how it's made her understand how fortunate she was that Bonita was left untouched by the Unrest."

Jaira played the video a bit more—Rosy's prediction turned out just right.

"It goes on, but yes, Nereida seems to be a big favourite of the Report team," Sawyer deadpanned.

"It's not just the Report," Alex pointed out. "Her family—the whole family—came when Sophia supposedly messed up in the Organisation."

"So did Veira's and mine, by the way. Unlike Nereida's, they are invited every year." Leila added.

"Blair? Do you know if she knows anything?" Ami turned to Nereida's closest friend. She had remained silent, but not gone to her friend's defence. How curious. Had she noticed it too?

Blair's lie was terrible. "Nope. Doubt it. I mean. There's no way she'd come up with that. She doesn't even watch _the Report_."

"Nereida doesn't hit me as the evil mastermind though," Ami remarked.

"Ami," Anastasia begun, "masterminds don't usually show themselves, do they?"

"Why would she risk elimination by pretending to not know Sophia? The royals in general?" Minnie replied. "It sounds a bit too risky to me."

"It makes her stand out? Invokes curiosity and that's not that much of a reason they can tell the press..." Rowan noted. Leda nodded in agreement. She smiled.

"It's not just Nereida, though," Jaira noted. "Tessa. She has spend ridiculously much time with Sophia. Too much to be called extra help when there's Zarah. No offense."

"None taken. I suck on purpose." Zarah's response was as light-hearted as Annie was. Rowan frowned. Zarah really just wanted to be a Three, huh? She probably could ask Xander to leave...

"She isn't that bad in class either," Leila noted. "She holds herself up with others from that background. She is, in no way, worse than Rowan or Isla, and both have kids to care about."

Cilla shook her head. "Tessa's just shy. She wanted a bit help because she's got no self-confidence. Sophia is the one that came back to her. She invites her for tea all the time. It's awkward if I'm with her and just get ignored."

"We aren't saying that they are the ones to initiate it. So to say, they're victims too. Sophia calling her back is the treatment we're wary of."

Rowan nodded. "True. We don't know if the Queen Mother plays these games too, but Ernest and his team, as well as Sophia, definitely have favourites."

"What about Louis? The King? Victoria?"

"Given their Situation after the war, I doubt that." Andreia crossed her arms. "Those are heavy accusations though."

"Do you not have feelings about your in-laws?" Jaira questioned. "I don't like this preferential treatment either, but the Selection is about love and it's inevitable to happen. What I don't like is others involving themselves. I was considering warning the Crown Prince?"

"That," someone begun, "is not necessary."

Turns out, Rowan thought, said prince had been listening in the door frame for a while. "And I'm aware. Very much. I hope it's dealt with now, and I can assure you, if Sophy plays around again, she'll lose her job as head of planning."

"Good afternoon, Your Royal Highness," Jaira greeted him. Her face remained straight, just as Leda's did when others cringed at the thought of being caught. She was good at this. Scary, Rowan had to think.

Xander nodded at her. Did he mind her bringing this up? Did he like her engagement? Would he have preferred to see her talking to him first? "Apologies for just coming in, but the door was open and I heard bits and pieces. I agree with you, I want it that way. There's no lying in Sophy playing strings."

"What about the ball?" Sawyer dared to ask.

The Crown Prince sighed. "She says that she forgot it. Knowing Sophy, that does sound plausible. I can't, however, exclude that she seems to have her own agenda. I can't tell you what, but—"

Maybe Zarah broke protocol on purpose. "Wait, so why is she still on this job when she's got her own agenda."

"Everyone does," Xander replied. "I couldn't name you one person in my life that doesn't. It's life here in the palace. I spoke to my father about that a while ago. There's nothing you can do about it. It happened in his Selection, in my grandfathers… In every, I'd say."

"So, you're just letting it slide?" Isla frowned. "Just let it happen?"

"Would you prefer people to be mindless robots, Lady Isla?"

Isla fell silent. It probably was good that she did, Rowan thought, although she saw the point. Either people were mindless robots, or they would backstab you. She couldn't say what she preferred.

"There are many things I would like to be different, but I can't just snap with my hand and balance things out."

"What about the Italian's visit?" Rowan spoke before she thought. "We were meant to have weeks to plan. I barely even know the outline of their visit."

Xander frowned. "I will remind Abby. Do feel free to ask yourself though. Now, if you excuse me, I have to attend boring political meetings."

"Not as boring as economics," Kate yawned. "Even Twilight is better than this… Wait, no, cross that out." Xander chuckled at that. The meeting, Rowan now assumed, was about economics or something similar.

"Your Highness," Leda spoke nonetheless. Calm, calculated words. Rowan didn't doubt that she had been preparing them for a while. "If you don't mind me asking, what is your response on the suggestion that given your schedule in the government, you barely have time for the Selection? There are comparisons to the King's Selection where he had gone on rendezvous with the ladies every day after their arrival, when we have been here for one and a half week and two group rendezvous have happened?"

Xander didn't hesitate. This topic had been brought up more than once, Rowan realised. "The government does not run itself, Lady Leda. The situations are different than when my father had his Selection. I'm not a fan of it either, but life is under no obligation to give you what you want."

The prince disappeared, and with him did the attention Jaira had. Twice, she tried to bring up another issue, but Anastasia stopped with kind words, reminding her that they had been given an answer. The prince knew. If he and the King doubted anything would work, then there was no point.

" _The threat remained unspoken. If you can't deal with the agendas, you aren't meant to be here. In some way, that's scary because I don't know how to, but I want to learn, let alone to make sure it never happens to Owen and Annie._ "

She sighed. There was no point in worrying now, or anything. Owen and Annie probably were waiting for her already. She looked up to check if Isla was getting up to pick up her niece. She wasn't—she was still engaged in a conversation with Isla and Zarah. Leda handed back her economics notes, and Rowan looked at her notes. " _Believe me_ ," Leda had written, " _the cage is worth what will come out._ " She looked up, facing Leda and her eyes. She winked with a momentary smile of mischief. She knew something. "Later," Leda mouthed.

Later wouldn't be soon.

She rose, to leave, wishing her empty words of fun with her siblings. Isla waved at Rowan now, because both tended to visit their siblings together, and in confusion, Rowan took a moment to rise. How long had she stared?

"I'm coming," she muttered and rose, and followed Isla.

They walked in silence, as they mostly did. Things got confusing when both had a relative nicknamed 'Annie'.

"Who did you invite to the ball?" Isla asked curious.

Rowan didn't hesitate. She wasn't going to make things sound nice. "Nobody."

"Dead parents?" Isla huffed.

"Dead father, alcoholic mother. She's useless. That's why I had Owen and Annie come here. I can't leave them with her. She's always in her room sobbing." The apathy in her own voice surprised her. At home, Rowan had always—every single time—cleaned up things. She made sure her mother was alright.

She hadn't spent a single thought to her ever since she left. Only Owen and Annie.

"It's the same for me," Isla admitted. "Dead father, a mother I don't want contact to anymore." Rowan looked at the floor. Isla didn't want contact anymore. What about herself? She hadn't even touched that. She spoke more to her dead father, through her letters, than to her own mother too…

Maybe it was time to stop being a saint and being honest. Annie and Owen saw her as their mother figure either way…

"Hello!" Isla hummed when they reached the sitting room where the three children tended to be. At least, when they didn't hug their respective relatives to death because the guards were scary (Annie and Annie, Owen was a big boy).

"Where's Owen?" Rowan noticed immediately. With both Annies being only a year apart, they were happy to play with another, but Owen was nowhere to be seen.

"Still in the library, I guess. Do you want me to pick him up?" the governess replied with a friendly smile. Rowan shook her head. That sounded like Owen. "I'll go and pick him up. Annie? Will you come?"

"No! Princess Roseflower is having a tea party with Princess Buttercup!" Annie Johansson replied.

Rowan chuckled. "Alright, I'll be back."

And that was how she made her way to the library. From what she knew, even the book nerds among the Selected weren't here a lot; too much dust and all in the air, but Owen liked the silence and the 'away from the buzzing palace'. It reminded him of home, she presumed.

As always, the library was quiet and empty. Therefore, she had no issues with calling out her brother's name twice to find him. "I'm here!" Owen soon replied. The first face she found, however, was not her brother's, but the unpleased expression of Louis Illéa. Oh great. That douchebag.

"Lady Rowan, is it?" the prince, equally unimpressed, greeted her. He made no move, besides closing the book in his hands.

"Your Highness," Rowan curtsies, even though she feels like mocking him. Right, if she was so unhappy with being a Seven, why didn't she just become a Two? Rowan had been too young to understand these words back then, but her father had explained them, and now she knew what they meant. "Apologies for the interruption."

"That's my sister!" Owen presented. "The one I told you about, not Annie and her dolls."

Much to Rowan's surprise, a smile appeared on the prince's lips. She doubted she had ever seen him with one. "I see. Do you read as much as your brother, Lady Rowan?"

"I don't have the time, I'm afraid."

"How unfortunate." Was there mockery in his words? She couldn't detect it, but she felt something. Something that she couldn't describe. "Your brother is intelligent."

"Too bad that he can't put that to use, huh?"

Now she could hear the sarcasm indeed. "How unfortunate indeed."

A knock at the wooden shelves gained their attention. Leda stood there, probably having followed her when the tea party hadn't included Rowan. "Excuse my interruption, I was looking for Rowan."

Louis nodded. "Lady Leda, good day. Quite the influx of people. I always believed that everyone avoided this place like the pest." Or rather, him. "You were a student of Larchen Gillain, weren't you?"

Leda rose her eyebrow. "Yes, why?"

"I remember him to be a fascinating person, that is all," Louis replied. "Wouldn't you think so?"

"Indeed," Leda nodded. "Unfortunate that he left."

"He dared to speak. Not many do. That is why, dear Owen," Louis turned to Rowan's younger brother. For a moment, she wanted to jump between them, to prevent whatever was coming. "I told you that literature is so important. It's an art. Nobody cares about art. Yet, it speaks. It dares to talk."

Owen nodded. "I know! Look, Rowan! I read this _whole_ book!" What he presented to hear was an old, nearly destroyed book. "It's for young adults, called The Hunger Games!"

"Isn't that Young Adult? They re-filmed it a few years ago," Leda remarked.

"It is, and there is no doubt that it's not the most sophisticated genre. Oh, if I was asked, I must admit, isn't Cass a little right in what she says? Surely, her writing does lack depth, but other than that…"

Rowan didn't understand, but Leda did. There was something in her response that made Rowan question if she and Louis weren't talking about something else. "Please, Your Highness, I'm sure the Schreaves are lovely people that only have the best in their mind for the country."

"So does Larchen, doesn't he?" Louis smiled.

Leda didn't. She looked like a mouse in a mouse trap.

And Louis Illéa left her in it.

/ / /

 **Angeles Women's Shelter, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Veira Schreave**

The number of cameras was, by far, outnumbering the amount of people meant to be here. It felt off, Veira presumed, but she had seen that before at her uncle's political rallies. This was, ultimately, another such engagement, and she was happy to participate. As the present Selected—Harriet, Veira, Nereida and Tessa—posed for the cameras alongside Sophia Illéa and a selection of shelter staff and residents, she remained quiet. It maybe was afternoon, but Veira still didn't adapt to the new sleep schedule. Yes, maybe she didn't try, but… alright, maybe there was no adequate excuse. The reporters asked questions and whoever was appropriate replied. Veira and the other girls were to remain quiet, or at least Veira felt like that was the appropriate response.

Of course, Nereida Statten was happy to chat with the reporters. How did she like this event that had started five minutes ago? Loved it! How did she like the other Selected? They were great! Why? Nereida (to Veira's surprise) was able to name something for everyone. Veira's grace, Harriet's style and Tessa's relationship with horses.

"When… did she see that…" Tessa muttered.

Harriet was quick to help. "Haven't you noticed them filming our everyday life? You're almost always at the stables. Surely, they have some footage of that on the Report next week. Maybe Nereida befriended with a Report staff member?"

If there was malice in that comment—and Veira could, objectively, understand that—then she didn't hear it. Of course, there was a side to Harriet that didn't come out in front of the press, but so was there to Veira—to everyone. Even Louis Illéa…

"It's amazing how she just chats with the reporters…" Tessa sighed. "I wish I could do that."

"Then, do try!" Sophia smiled to Tessa, and reached out her hand. To the reporters, she said, "Do go easy on Lady Tessera. She's a little shy."

Tessa blushed—hard. "I'm not shy!" she insisted. "Just… a little introverted."

Veira smiled, and placed her hand on Tessa's shoulder. "It'll be alright."

Together, they continued speaking to the reporters for a while, until someone in the background decided that the reporters had enough footage and that the actual event could begin. Veira didn't mind; she could do well with the reporters but they weren't here for a photo op; they were here to do work. There was one woman who introduced herself as administrator of the shelter. Veira didn't know how Sophia had chosen this one (or the girls, although she had a hunch) in particular, but again; she chose to accept it.

"Thank you so much for coming here," the woman began. She had introduced herself earlier, but the name slipped Veira's mind. "I can only hope that the publicity will help our cause."

There were still cameras present. They were of the Report, but given Xander's lack of time to genuinely tackle the Selection, they needed long material that wasn't just interviews. These charity events that Sophia seemed to be planning would do that. Veira had frowned when she realised that, but who was she to judge? She didn't exactly work…

"I, for once, am happy to support your cause." Harriet stepped forward, revealing a little book from her Gucci bag. The girls had decided to follow the motion of the 'wear the same thing', and all went for a very similar style, but Harriet had insisted on her bag. Veira herself had chosen to maintain a few certain things to… she couldn't help herself. "In the name of the Tailor family, I would like to donate in person." She handed the woman a check, and from her peripheral vision, Veira could see the camera focusing on the woman's expression. Harriet made a good move by not revealing the exact number, but the staff's reaction would be enough. Surely, she had previously given the camera man a tip.

"I…" The woman's smile was genuine though, and so, Veira could not give Harriet any fault. "I'm very thankful, Lady Harriet."

"It's no problem," she replied. "You're welcome. I love to help."

Sophia nodded. "Miss, we discussed previously about seeing the shelter itself. Why don't we start with that?"

They did. From the dining hall that Tessa compared to a high school cafeteria quietly (Veira couldn't say anything, having attended private schools not like this), and they came to reach one of the sleeping halls. The shelter, relatively new, had multiple of these and each housed twenty-four beds, little cabinets and women. Some had chosen to stay—Veira assumed their faces would be blurred—while others had left. They had been informed beforehand.

Of course, they wouldn't want to be seen as homeless—Eights—on national television.

"This here is Hope Jones," the administrator introduced one surprisingly young woman. A young boy was hiding behind her, maybe scared of the cameras. "She expressed interest in talking to you."

Sophia's smile didn't falter; if this wasn't planned, Veira wouldn't have known. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jones."

The woman—younger than Veira's aunt, she noted—attempted a strange mix of curtesy and bow to the princess and ladies, and invited them for a seat on her neighbours' bed. Although it felt strange to Veira, she knew the drill—just do it. You can shower later.

"Thank you for taking your time. I'm—" Hope was interrupted when the little boy began giggling.

Immediately, Veira's eye moved to what he was giggling at: Nereida, instead of sitting down, had chosen to kneel next to Hope's bed and was grimacing at the boy. Veira expected the camera man to focus on that on Sophia's command, but she didn't move. Veira looked at the princess. She knew her very well—they had been friends since childhood, and had spend the years of unrest together. Often, she had been her only company.

She knew coldness when she saw it.

"Please, Toby, don't bother the ladies," Hope urged her son.

"But mommy, look at her!" the boy exclaimed.

"It's alright," Nereida chuckled. "You're one big boy, aren't you?"

Veira knew what was to come—her aunt had played that game often enough and even though she wouldn't put it past Nereida for this to be natural, she knew the spiel well enough. Maybe some was prompted, maybe some wasn't—who knew. She was much more curious in the coldness of Sophia's eyes. Even if she didn't see a reason to speak up, she worried for her friend.

And wanted to know why Tessa's hand gently patted the princess' shoulder. A breach of protocol that, in any other case, Sophia would have corrected. She was here to help the girls become ladies.

"Well," Hope turned to the girls. "I'm glad that you're willing to listen to my story."

"I think we all would be happy to," Harriet replied. "Please, do start."

"My name is Hope Jones. I've grown up in Angeles and lived here my whole life. I love the city; it's my home. However, I must admit, that sometimes I feel like this isn't the place I belong anymore. I grew up in a family of Sixes, working happily as maids and servants to a family. Me, my siblings and parents loved it, but I made the mistake to fall in love. I fell in love with a young bar musician, and I never looked back when I chose to marry him. We'd have a lovely family, a great future, you know." The sadness in her eyes made Veira wary. She knew where this was going. There had been enough of these cases in New York and its endless amount of homeless people, pleading for help.

"You can't change how people think. You can make laws, but changing people? That's impossible," she remembered her uncle saying to her, privately after pretending to inaptly listening. Phineas Schreave did listen, but there wouldn't be much that one person would do. "Changing people is impossible—not like that, at least."

"The rebels killed him when he attempted to save me and our son, leaving us dead-frightened. Like the gentlemen—" She spat out that word. "—they pretended to me, they left us alive. I'm a Five now, you know. An artist, they say. Painters. Musicians. Dancers. My son is too. Not once in my life have I sung. Not once have I danced, painted—anything. I stayed at home, managing my husband and our little household, because that is what I did as maid. Your Highness, I'm no Five—if it wasn't for our marriage," and they had no choice in that, Veira knew, "I can't work—there is nothing that will let my son and me gain our own bread. People call us Eights—those not contributing to society—because we can't work. I want to, but I can't. Please, do something."

Sophia's response was practised. Countless times, Veira assumed, she had gone through that. She thanked the young woman for her thoughts, mentioning this and that to prove she listened. She promised she would think of her and do her best she could, letting slip looking into what could be done and sending help.

 _Coincidentally_ , the production manager gave a sign for a break. The girls would take a break and a very tense shelter administrator led Hope and her son away. Veira, strangely, felt empty. Not empty in a way that she knew, but in a strange way that she couldn't describe.

She remembered talking to Louis about this.

" _Louis, why is it that you hate the lower castes so much?"_

" _They think they are the only ones with hardships. They think everyone above them lives a life full of happiness. They think they are the only ones oppressed, but they all do. Fours look down at Fives. Fives look down at Sixes. Sixes look down at Sevens. Sevens look down at Eights. Eights that are homeless look down at the criminals and addicts, criminals look down at the addicts and homeless and addicts don't have working brains anymore. I respect those who realise that—those who can tell you how things work," the prince honestly replied._

She wondered how he'd feel about this. Hope hadn't said anything about dislike of the system, or those above her—it seemed like she asked to be downgraded—something that people seemed to fear all their life.

"That was awkward," Harriet noted next to her.

"Don't you feel sorry for her?" Veira asked. "The poor thing…"

"There are lots of people working beneath their castes," Tessa mentioned.

Veira shook her head. "That's illegal."

"… Is it?" she blushed. "I—I—"

Harriet tilted her head. "People tend to pay less attention the higher up you are in the caste system. Nobody would care if a Two ran a business. They just bought their way up, because they had the money and they can. However, if a Five did the work of a Six? They didn't buy their way up a caste. Never ever did that happen. They're stealing the position a different Six could have; a real one. They're stealing jobs, you could say. That's the general consensus, either way."

"The caste system exists to maintain economic balance," Veira remembered. One of the most important sentences in Illéan History classes. "Yet, she was born a Six. It was only because she fell in love that she changed her caste."

"The law forbidding pre-martial sex isn't in place anymore," Tessa remembered. "Nobody followed it beforehand."

Harriet shook her head. "Not if it results in a pregnancy. Then, the parents have to marry, because otherwise—what caste would the child be? Who'd take care of it?"

"I see…"

"This is unfair," Veira realised. "Imagine you're the best musician there is, but you want to marry someone. You can't, unless they're also a Five, or you'd give up your family."

Harriet sighed. "Welcome to reality, I guess? That's why we need feminism."

"We don't need—okay, yes, we do, but we need to do something. It's unfair. Why do women have to be the ones to give up their life if they fall in love?" Veira rose, indignant. Genevieve Schreave never had to give up what she wanted to do, because she had become a One, and Ones did what they wanted either way. Bethany Schreave, her poor mother, hadn't either—but how many of the Selected's mothers had lost their passion?

"What if it's the men?" Harriet noted. "Then it's just the other way around."

"Why do you even need to take on the caste of your husband? Why not stay the person you are?"

"Then, whose caste would your child have?" Tessa tilted her head. "If you go by the child's gender, well, what if they would have fit better into what their other parent did?"

"Girls," Sophia spoke. There was something in her voice that Veira couldn't entirely place. Discontent? Boredom? Distance? "This discussion is what started a war. Please, leave it be."

In Tessa's eyes, she could see respect. In Harriet's eyes, Veira could see disdain. Nereida was talking to the staff; she probably hadn't heard the conversation at all. Tessa nodded at the princess, and soon left the two ladies alone.

"This conversation shouldn't be over," Veira muttered. "The poor woman. Nothing will happen to her."

"Not unless we do something, huh?" Harriet added on. "You can buy your way up; surely you can buy your way down?"

"I doubt that has ever happened in Illéan history," Veira replied. "That, and do think it'll solve the issue? For one person, but not for everyone. You need to do more!" Harriet shook her head. She took a seat, while the camera team seemed to gear up for another shoot, maybe smaller? She nudged Veira into sitting down as well, and with Sophia and Tessa gone, she sighed. "This isn't good."

"I know."

"What can we do?"

Harriet hesitated. "Well, there's not just this specific issue, if you want to look at it. There's the idea that girls are bad at maths—look at me. I aced maths. Then, so, do you know what the male-to-female ratio for the fashion week is?"

Veira looked down. "I don't, but I can assume now…" And a few photos more, and they returned home—to Veira's loyally waiting bed. She did, however, chose not to head there immediately. There was something else to do—someone to talk to, who'd know, she believed.

"… Hey, Louis?" she spoke quietly, when she reached the library. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **beta-ed by Slyther, all grammatical errors are on her**

 **Next Chapter:** _»false, but it looked good«_


	33. Chapter 32

**Fallout**

 _Victoria, determined to get better with her dad, runs into him with Lillian and misunderstands the situation. In their lessons, Rowan writes letters to her father as the girls discuss the obvious favouritism towards a few girls. Rowan and Leda briefly met Louis, who may know a tad too much for their taste. Meanwhile, Veira, Nereida, Harriet, Tessa and Sophia head out to a charity event and Veira is touched by it._

 **Chapter 32**

 _»false, but it looked good«_

 **Library of the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Veira Schreave**

Louis Illéa, as usually, was sitting in the library. Given the time, it made sense—he did work at some points of the day, but Veira was fairly sure that she was either sleeping, or in the lessons, sleeping.

"Of course, come in," the prince replied. "What can I do for you?"

"I need your opinion on something," Veira replied. "We just returned from the women's shelter visit, and I met this woman. A Six that married a Five. Her husband died in the Unrest, and now she is unemployed because she's no artist. She can't go back—probably can't afford the legal fees if that's even possible, and people don't accept the mixing among the castes in the case of lower castes. She and her son are doomed. Harriet and I were talking about what you can do against that, and how everything is turned against women. It would never happen to a man marrying—we have to give up everything we stand for."

Louis leaned backwards, and glared into the fire flickering quietly. He had closed the book he had been reading beforehand, but his right hand still rested on the old paper. "That, dear Veira, is another point why the caste system is fundamentally flawed."

"But what can be done? You know the law better than I do—there has to be something we can do.

"It's partwise a historical thing," Louis admitted. "Women take their husband's surname. When Illéa adopted the caste system, it must have been natural for Gregory Illéa to go with that. As I'm sure you can guess, any change but the complete removal of the caste system will help."

"Yes." Veira nodded. "It's not only that, though. There's so much more. I've googled it on the way here—how many governors are female? How many candidates are there?"

"None," Louis replied. It wasn't a guess, he was well aware of that.

"Something must be done—do you not have any idea? You always do."

"Maybe sleep a little less?" he teased.

Veira blushed. "To be fair, I—"

"Binge-watch Netflix?"

"That's not the discussion here, Louis!"

He rose and stepped to the window, directed to the front of the palace. In the close distance, Veira could see the skyline of Los Angeles. It wasn't as beautiful as New York—it could never be—but it was still touching. Veira, having not even sat down, stepped besides him, curious why he had moved there. Louis frowned. "Veira, do you remember our conversation about Project Omega and why it's not succeeding?"

"Yes, I do." She had just thought about it—when they had been talking to Hope.

"You can change the laws, but you can't change society." He paused. "You could make it illegal to speak up against me, arrest anyone who does, but will it make a difference? Will it change their feelings? No, that is impossible. Not at one instant, at least."

"Are you saying it comes down to Project Omega?" Veira frowned. Now that she thought about it, she doubted that the secret government project would do much effect—either in what it was intended for, and in making sure that people were treated fairly.

"I'm saying it's struggling with the same barriers as Project Omega does. Veira, I understand your feelings, but you can't just magically change people's feelings."

"You haven't tried yet!"

"Look at history," Louis gestured to the countless books. "People have, before us."

"And people change. Over time—you said that time is the only thing that changes them. If anything, the Great Unrest was a sign that Project Omega should be taken more seriously."

Who was she to talk? The only reason she even knew what Project Omega was, was her status as a One—as Lady Veira Schreave. She had no idea of what it entailed—she only knew the basic outline. Did that stop her? No.

"The Unrest proves that humans like to get violent," Louis huffed. "Do you know who Andrew Hartman is?"

"No…? I always avoided the Unrest, with dad and Vicky…"

"He was a popular face of the rebellion in the early years. A Six, working as a housekeeper for a family of Threes that had gained wealth through earnest work. He stole from them, in cold blood, but that wasn't what made them take him from the front lines. That Robin Hood style fitted their agenda." Louis paused. "Then, in public just like I did, he commented on how they couldn't trust a fellow rebel—a Seven—with working with the money they gained. Why? Because he was a Seven, and Sevens couldn't think. Because they were Sevens."

Veira frowned, too. Louis had asked why a Six wouldn't just become a Three if they were so unhappy. Of course, there were other factors, but Andrew Hartman probably hadn't been a child, and Louis Illéa hadn't called anyone stupid.

"The Unrest hasn't changed anything—except proving that people are willing to take violent approaches whenever possible."

"So?"

"So. There's little you can do."

Veira frowned. "A little more positivity would help, you know…"

"Says the girl who sleeps through her whole life."

"Sleep is fun, at least. I don't sulk in the library."

Louis laughed. "I don't sulk—I enjoy reading just as much as you enjoy spending your nights on Netflix."

/ / /

 **The Women's Room in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Harriet Tailor**

Word had travelled, someone managed to remind the Crown Prince of the Italian's visit, and as a result, on the next day, instead of lessons, Sophia began going through the plans. Detailed who was expected to arrive, told a few stories about why the Italian heir apparent was worse than Ernest.

"That would be Carl. The last time I saw them, his English was quite worthy of practise, but I'm sure he'll have improved. That, or he will have a translator, just in case. Then there is His Royal Highness, Prince Luigi, the Duke of Aosta, who is Carl's younger brother. Truth to be told, and please don't talk about that openly, he'll be the one running Italy when their father passes. Luigi may suck at social interactions, but he at least knows how the country works. Think of him as Louis," she begun, but hesitated. She wasn't going to touch the invisible elephant in the room; probably half of the girls weren't fond of Louis Illéa. "Just... he tries to actually socialise, you could say?"

Harriet couldn't help but add an 'unlike Louis' to that. Sophia was a lovely lady, and given the lack of appearances Louis Illéa had made, it was expectable. Harriet wondered why the girls weren't dining with the royal family as they (there _was_ video evidence!) had in the King's Selection, but given recent history, it made sense…

Sophia smiled at the Selected. "There we go. That would be the Savoys. My dear aunt will probably be with us here in the Women's Room—" Except that, again, unlike in past Selections, most girls did not spend all their time here. "—and I imagine that Carlos will be with Xander."

No sing-song, smile or humming could stop a murmur. Of course, the Crown Prince, once again, wouldn't be with the ladies. Even Harriet, whose date with the prince was only half a week ago, felt let down. He was quite the enjoyable company, in her opinion.

"Now, for the groups, I chose to go random. I understand that there are friend groups among you, but that doesn't change the fact that a princess needs to be able to work with everyone."

"Yeah, and she sucks at that," Zarah Baine, not too far from Harriet, muttered. Just loud enough for Harriet to hear, but Harriet nearly let out an indignant, "Excuse you?"

She knew better. In the few times she had joined Veira and Sophia for tea, Sophia had dropped her dislike for certain members in the Selection. Fortunately, Sophia expected Zarah and Alex to be out soon. Leila too, hopefully, although she had said fewer invoking things, unfortunately.

Sophia begun listing the groups, and Harriet patiently listened. Unfortunately, the lady from Sonage had to wait quite a little, as she found herself in the final group, charged with the ball, alongside Veira (yay), Kate (alright), Minnie (acceptable), Rowan, Blair (uuuuh) and Sloth Girl (an issue).

Once Sophia ended her introduction, the girls gathered in one corner of the women's room. Their line-up, in Harriet's opinion, was acceptable. As a lady of society, Veira surely would be able to help. Kate's fantasy surely would be of use, and Minnie, from what Harriet had grasped, was a decent business woman. Sloth Girl was another case. So was Rowan. Blair maybe too. Half of the team was useful!

"We need a dress code," she therefore immediately insisted.

Rowan sighed. "Oh, of course. Would you like it to be a masquerade?"

"That would be awesome!" Kate cheered. "Imagine! Flowing dresses, jewels, mysterious dancers with masks and—"

As much as it was not adequate for a lady such as Harriet to agree with Kate, she did want to recreate that infamous ball from King Adrian's Selection. Then-Lady Lysandre Wilde had been complimented and criticised alike for a dress believed to include real diamonds (false, but it looked _good_ ).

"Lady Katheryn," Minnie began, much more matter of fact. "As much as I imagine you would enjoy such a thing, we need to consider the budget." She pointed to the folder they had been given. "The budget, as it clearly states, includes the fashion of the Selected. I'm sure that dresses for a masquerade would be even more expensive."

"That's true," Harriet had to admit. "Unfortunately. Would you mind handing me the folder, Lady Minerva?"

Harriet wasn't given a lot of time though; Sophia, with an awfully happy smile joined them. "Oh, and by the way, as I forgot to add that to the folders, you're free to use any location available to my family."

"Magnificent," Veira smiled. "Thank you."

"No worries. Have fun. Do keep me updated."

"Every location?" she hummed. "I think I know how we can save _a lot_ of budget."

Minnie rose an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"We could go for a beach! It'd be beautiful," Blair suggested. "Think of it. It'd be magical."

"Oooh!" Kate's eyes grew bigger than the moon. "Yeah! Let's do that!"

Veira tilted her head. "It sounds like a great idea, but think of heels. Dresses. The sand would be a nightmare, and so would the heat be. The ball will be an evening event. Nobody would like to get their dresses dirty; many ball dresses can hardly be washed."

Rowan shrugged. "Don't you just wear them once either way?"

"You can donate many of them, to be re-made into clothes for people who are in need for clothes. I just did that very recently. It's a great cause and a win for both. My closet has so much more space for shopping now," Veira replied. "Maybe a penthouse? Imagine the view over the skyline of Los Angeles. It must be beautiful."

"But the beach…" Kate grumbled.

Harriet's grin grew larger than the sun. "Well, guess who has a hotel at the waterfront with a penthouse overlooking the beach side?" She pointed at herself. "This one!"

Minnie frowned. "I think they were referring to the Illéa Palace, maybe Hill Castle and so on, not 'rent a place'. The budget looks to be more for the staff employed additionally."

Harriet waved it off. "With the hotel staff, I can bill it on the hotel for publicity and what not. I'm sure that having the _royal family_ of Italy would look great on the list of previous visitors. Besides, dad will do it for me. We'll save _that_ money for the dresses, and we can do the masquerade!"

"Oooh! Yes! Then I'm team hotel!"

Veira nodded. "It sounds good to me. I've been to the hotel you're talking about. They have a beautiful rooftop terrace. You'd have the ocean too, Lady Blair."

Blair nodded. "Alright, I see the point with the money. We can always go out, I guess?"

"Besides, whoever wins will live in the centre of the golden province. Beach always available," Harriet hummed. "Rowan? Slo—Ladies?" Both, less enthusiastic (but what did you expect from a Seven…) agreed.

"If it's masquerade, then the dress code should be white tie." Veira was right.

"Black tie is less formal though. It'll be more… natural? You know? Like normal people, and we'd save money too."

Silence.

"But I like white tie," Kate deadpanned. "Fancy. Princess. Ooh! Can we do it Disney themed?"

Veira tilted her head. "I'm afraid, that's a little inadequate, Lady Katheryn."

"Too bad…"

"So, the hotel, I can organise that. A masquerade white tie, alright," Harriet noted. "Music and entertainment? Food?"

Harriet watched as the girls looked through the folder, glared into the air and thought. What kind of entertainment could there be on a ball? There'd be a banquet, an official begin to dancing, maybe some speeches—someone had to make them. Preferably someone capable of speaking Italian.

"We cannot watch Disney movies, Katheryn," Rowan muttered when Kate opened her mouth.

Given the fact that she stopped, it probably had been her idea. "Just some music? Maybe classical piano, or maybe even something Opera-like? That comes from Italy, you know."

"You can't have opera during a ball," Minnie replied. "That's a difference. I think having some classical music would be lovely, but there's the issue that the ball is being broadcasted. We need to make it relatable to the average Illéan viewer."

"She's right," Rowan admitted. She didn't look particularly happy. "Don't lie to yourself; this is more a Selection event than politics. Italy and Illéa are close allies. This is just a test for us."

"A learning opportunity," Veira suggested.

"Both," Harriet decided.

"What about a band?" Blair asked. "We could have them rearrange some more 'classic' pieces, but also play modern music? I wouldn't suggest pop, but you know, something better than elevator music."

"Classic music isn't elevator music!" Rowan exclaimed.

The lifeguard shrugged. "I have no idea of music. Ask Nereida, she's the ballerina."

"Ooh, we could have _A Thousand Years_ rearranged!" Kate cheered.

Given the chances that this was something fanfiction-related, Harriet cringed and noted 'make sure Kate doesn't talk to the band' onto her notes. "Sure, sure, love. So, a band it is? You know, an orchestra would fit too. A little one, you know?"

"But think of the band…"

Veira nodded. "It'd be more adequate for the broadcasting-aspect. I agree with you, Harriet, but you go to watch an orchestra. This time, they're not meant to be heard, like Fives."

Rowan huffed. "Oh, yeah, of course."

"I'm team band too," Blair admitted.

"So," Harriet began and noted it down, "it's looking like band, huh?"

"I'd say orchestra too," Rowan added on. "But the majority rules…"

Everyone, apparently, decided that someone dressing as a sloth was not fit to vote. Harriet agreed. She didn't particularly like the idea of having her appear as a sloth either. "There we go. We'll need to look into getting an adequate band. Rowan, you seem to be fond of music. Do you want to look into a selection of songs for the band to consider? They could base their setlist on that, and then play things that are similar? Blair? Do you want to look into adequate bands? I'm sure Nereida can help you."

How unfortunate that they didn't have any Fives to be sent out for this, but oh well. Blair would work.

"We might be rivals of her group though," Minnie frowned.

"I can assure you," Blair replied, "Nereida wouldn't think of that. I'm surprised she even remembers her name sometimes…"

"Alright. So, for the 'research' roles I just decided—I'll organise the venue. Rowan and Blair get the music going. Veira," she looked up, "would you be so kind and look into an adequate buffet? I'm sure you can figure out a buffet combining Illéan and Italian specialities?"

She hesitated. "I'm not sure if I'm the one to ask, Harriet. I don't have a lot of experience with that. Wouldn't you want to talk to the hotel staff?"

"I can do it!" Kate hummed. "I've done research into that before, because I needed Italian food in a fanfiction. If you give me contact details, I'll get it going!" Harriet only wrote Kate's name down hesitant.

"I'm happy to organise dresses for everyone, though. Given our past discussions, maybe we could look into one basic design and let every girl do minor changes? In colour, mask shape and dress shape, you know? To show union too. I'd love to do that. With the fashion week, I might be able to find a designer to help," Veira said.

"Great idea!" Harriet cheered. "Great, that'd be all? Right?"

"Ooh, can we have, like, champagne gummy bears and muffins?"

Harriet shrugged. "I wouldn't see a reason why?" Her response came with a strong sense of 'please Kate don't get everyone drunk on television' hope.

"Would there be any chance that we can use this to promote—" Veira begun, but Harriet already knew what she was going into. Yesterday wasn't exactly a distant memory.

"While I think it's a good idea, I'm not sure if having an agenda is."

"Didn't we just learn that everyone has an agenda?" Rowan pointed out dry.

Having no idea what she was talking about, Harriet ignored her. "If we look like we want to push something certain, it may not look good. Plus, there already is a charity event, Veira. Maybe talk to them?"

Veira nodded, although unhappy. Given her special connection to the prince as childhood friend, Harriet couldn't estimate if she would reach the elite and the Queen's Project; but either way, Veira wouldn't be able to do much now. Besides, knowing how things usually went, that initial enthusiasm would probably not last past tomorrow… She had seen enough projects die down like that.

She rose, excused herself and headed out, to hand her notes to a footman or Sophia if she could catch her. The princess, for some incomprehensible reason, didn't seem that happy about the budget move, but accepted it either way…

/ / /

 **Xander's Sitting Room in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

 _One will be your wife._

His previous date had gone well. He enjoyed it quite well. The girls seemed happy too, at least going by what they said to _the Report_ team. This was his second date this week, and both would be on _the Report_. Two dates were more than enough, in his opinion, and yet he paced up and down his sitting room.

Irina seemed almost amused. Of course, she was with him again. She was lovely company and given the fact that she had been with him when he had begun planning this round, he saw absolutely no issue. Besides, she was Evan's sister and Evan was his best friend.

 _One will be your wife._

"Lady Leila, Lady Blair and Lady Gabriella, do I see that right?" Irina asked, looking at his notes. "I'm sure Leila will appreciate this. She's always opposing Veira and Harriet when they go all 'upper class lady'."

He had heard these things from Sophia a little too (which was why he hadn't switched her with anyone else). Leila had changed during the war, but so had he, he liked to think. "I do hope that too."

"Blair seems like the type to cook. I dunno. Practical, you know."

"Hmhm."

"Rie—look over her sarcasm. She's a good person at heat, just as cynical as humanly possible. She's—"

"Got a valid reason," both finished.

"Yes, I know," Xander added. "I believe it was her who spoke about melon on pizza during the first meetings."

"Melon pizza?" Irina rose her eyebrow.

"However, I'm not entirely sure, because, you know, I don't even remember what you or Veira said, and I should know that because Veira is a childhood friend, you know. Gosh, I don't know what Leila said either she could have been talking about clowns for all I know I wasn't paying attention at all. I don't even know if I know which province these girls are from? I think that Leila is from Likely because that's where her family lives but it could also be Angeles because you know that makes sense and—"

Irina rose as Xander continued babbling. Irina rose, stepped up to him, and for a moment—Xander didn't realise—looked like she was about to slap him. She looked quite a lot like she was going to. Xander stopped, almost (just almost) frightened by the coldness in her gaze.

"Xander. Stop it. You're embarrassing yourself. They're here for you, not vice-versa. Let them court you. That's how it works."

She couldn't have been clearer by throwing cold water in his face. As much as he'd like to just hide in the palace pool, he needed that. "Right, thank you, Irina."

She sighed. "Are you going to stop worrying now?"

"Yes."

"Promise? You look dreadful when you do. A Fool of a Took you are."

"Promise."

"Deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised, Xander. Just take it one step at a time."

"Deeds won't tell me what to make," Xander pointed out. "I started cooking in the army. I haven't had time since I came back. I always went with what was there. What if they don't like it, or—"

"You had someone tell them earlier today what they'll do. I'm sure they have some ideas. Worst case, throw some potatoes and call it a salad. It's about the experience."

"Can I just take you along for the advice?" he joked.

Irina huffed and dropped back onto the sofa. She tilted her head. There was something about the way she sat, the way she walked. Strength. That was one thing. She stood tall, strong, never that readable—even Xander took a moment to look behind the ever-calm expression. There was something in her aura, if you could say that.

That confidence was amazing.

"I'm not sure if they'd like that," she replied. "The thing yesterday? About preferential treatment on _the Report_? I'm sure Jaira had more things to talk about."

"Are you alright?" What, why did he ask that? Because he himself preferred—no, he did not.

Irina huffed. "Of course, I am. I don't care about screen time and whatnot, I guess…" She shrugged, but for a mere moment, looked aside. "It's not in my hands. It should be, yes, but I have other things to worry about?"

"Other things?"

She shrugged. "I guess Minnie and Rie aren't the only ones with past scars. What about you? I can't quite believe that the war left you unscarred."

Xander frowned. He too had nightmares, but most nights, he could barely remember them. If they even came, it was. "Not a lot, I think. Sometimes, a few times, of that day when the war ended, but… I doubt it's as noticeable as for others." Not as Vicky.

"Your sister made everyone talk to a psychologist."

"Did she?"

Irina nodded. "I didn't tell them, I must admit. I doubt Rie or Minnie did. Not after Harriet and Veira talked about 'fitting to be a royal'. I guess nobody wants to be eliminated on that basis…"

Xander shrugged. "Louis has social anxiety. That doesn't change his status."

"He isn't in the Selection."

"That's true. He'd die if he was to hold one."

Irina huffed. "Where is he, always? I never come to see him."

"In the library would be my guess, but don't go to see him. He'll react like a cat woken up from its nap."

"You don't sound impressed."

"I'm just tired. I have a Selection and a country to handle. Vic has nightly nightmares."

Irina crossed her arms. "How is that 'shadow someone at work' thing going on?"

Xander laughed. "She slept in today, but otherwise? It sounds like she is taking it seriously. I'm not taking her to the Selection, though. That's out of the boundaries for sure."

"That's good, isn't it?"

Xander smiled. "It is. Thank you." He knew.

"Now, Your Royal Highness, isn't it time for you to head out for your date? I'm sure the girls are waiting for you. Please, do tell me how it goes. I'll be waiting."

He chuckled. "I'm fairly sure that Ernest is planning an interview session for that time."

Irina cringed. "Oh, great. I'll get to talk to a camera, instead of you. You'll need to give me something in return," she demanded.

"Tell me after," Xander replied, turning around and heading through the door.

The date was to be in the palace kitchens. Not the prettiest date place, but given the fact that they'd also go and eat (well, that was his plan…) what they'd make, he hoped that would make it up to them. _One will be your wife_. Now he just needed to survive this day.

Gabriella "Rie" Jespersen, Leila Sinclair and Blair Willow were already waiting in the kitchen. An odd group, now that Xander could think about them. Blair and Rie were both born Sevens, so maybe they would understand another regarding that—but even from the little Xander had seen? They weren't similar.

"Hello!" Blair was the first to call to him, and the first to notice him. When had their last conversation been? He remembered vaguely that she had been among the Selected to play 'Never Have I Ever', but given the fact that he barely even remembered the questions…

Gosh, how long had that been in the past?

"Your Royal Highness, good morning." Leila's curtsy was much better practised than Blair's.

"You're late," Rie added on, almost laughing. She nodded at the clock outside the kitchen—one minute past the time he was meant to be here. _Maybe_ he had spent a little too much time walking.

"My apologies," he replied. "I did not mean to leave you waiting."

"I think we were able to survive for a whole minute," she replied. "So, I heard, we're cooking something?"

"Not exactly a very 'royal' theme, is it?" Leila added with a smirk. That air of confidence she's always had—even when they had been younger—made her stand out among the three.

"If you have better suggestions, I'm happy to listen," Xander replied. "Although, I faintly remember someone bringing up melon on pizza."

"It's the best thing ever invented by man," Rie insisted. "There's nothing better."

"Not even pineapple?"

Blair cringed. "Please no."

"Aren't you from Clermont?" Leila laughed. "Isn't that where all the crazy people live?"

"I'm glad that we all agree that pineapple does not belong on pizza," Xander huffed. Evan insisted on that—and he had no idea what the rest of his family felt about this controversial topic. He couldn't imagine Sophia or Louis eating pizza in the first place…

"Excuse me?" Rie spoke up. "I insist. It definitely belongs on pizza. You know what? I'm making pizza—with melon and pineapple."

Leila chuckled. "It seems we've decided on what to make?"

"Why don't we all make a pizza each. Then we don't need to fight about the toppings? Besides, I swear, I make the best pizza," Blair insisted.

"It's a deal—battle of the pizzas," Rie declared.

"… Oh gosh," Xander laughed. Here he was, usually just eating the plain old basic pizza. He was never going to win this—but maybe, that was part of the charm. He chuckled, nodded and the four went into the kitchen.

Xander didn't even notice the cameras filming them in the first place.

The staff had been so kind to vacate an area of the kitchen earlier in the morning, so the camera team could do their magic with the lights, sound and whatnot. It did, however, not take long until Blair picked up the flour.

"Rest in peace, camera," Rie commented as the flour covered the first and main camera. "Doesn't pizza dough take twenty-four hours to cool? Is pizza even a possible choice, then?"

Given his schedule for tomorrow, no. "If we're lucky, the kitchen may happen to have some stored."

"There are supermarkets nearby too? We could get pre-made pizza bases?" Leila added on.

"I'm gonna ask the kitchen staff," Blair announced and disappeared away from the main cameras. The camera team shuffled a bit to follow her, and Xander realised that yes, they were around too. Great—what a great image for the palace (and him). They did not have everything prepared.

Blair returned quickly, shaking her head. "Nope. Doesn't seem to be something you can eat here."

"I mean," Xander begun, "I can't really imagine my family eating pizza…? Ernest maybe, but that's it."

Rie chuckled. "They're missing out."

"I mean," Xander repeated, "yes."

"Then, let's go and get pizza bases?" Blair said.

"Is there a Target nearby?" Leila leaned back. How curious that she knew what a Target was… For the daughter of the Sinclair family, this didn't sound too typical… Xander really missed out, huh?

"Target is expensive." Rie curled her lips. "Walmart is cheaper."

"There's a Walmart about…" Xander paused. He should know this. He lived here. When he had been younger—before his father had even ascended the throne—his mother had always taken him and his siblings on walks through 'the neighbourhood'. Which more than once ended in them getting lost somewhere, but these adventures were why they kept going—much to their grandmother's disdain. "Twenty minutes into the city? Don't quote me." Helena was not here, though.

"Then, what's stopping us? I want this pizza contest," Rie declared.

"You'll lose!" Blair declared. "I have no idea what I'm doing, but you'll lose!" she laughed.

"Twenty minutes sounds doable. By car or do we walk?" Leila asked.

"I mean," Xander begun. How often had he said this today? "I'd say car, simply because we'll need to get them back here. We may want to check what else we're missing too."

Rie tilted her head. "I need melons. That's all."

"You're seriously doing a melon pizza?" Leila rose her eyebrows.

"Yes. Now, I definitely am."

"I wonder if there's something like melon sauce…" Blair leaned back. "I know what I'm doing. Do we want to check with the staff for that too?"

"If there is anything like melon sauce, then Walmart has it." Xander turned to Blair. "Yes."

"Not that the poor royal family needs to spend a dime on food, huh…" Leila muttered under her breath—just loud enough for Xander to hear. He could elaborate, but he could also let it slide. Maybe later. In Walmart. He'd have space to evade her afterwards.

Fortunately, Leila and Blair were quickly to check on what the royal kitchen had in store. Even though the kitchen staff was happy to go out and get what they needed, they had, evidently, been set to go to Walmart.

"First a cooking date, now a 'lets-go-to-Walmart' date?" Rie teased when they had arrived at the store. Sure, the royal guard was quite salty (this meant more work, but it was Walmart—what could go wrong?) but that was, to be completely honest, their issue. Xander knew how much the royal kitchen liked to spend.

They'd get the cheapest pizza base.

He left the car before Rie, and before he even was able to offer any form of help, she had made her way out of the car and sat in the wheelchair. When Xander had realised that she would be one of the Selected, he had been glad that the palace was able to adjust to her. One thing Gregory Illéa thought about, at least...

"Can I help you somehow?" Blair said to Rie.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she shot back—in a much less playful tone. Xander chose not to offer his help.

Blair rose her eyebrows. "Okay…?"

They headed inside, and Walmart being Walmart, nobody paid them much attention, besides the sub-minimum wage greeter that, given his lack of reaction, did not look at them. Even though Xander hadn't been at a Walmart in ages—another one of the things a prince usually didn't do, duh—he noticed that it had changed.

As always, the isles had no markings.

"Where do we find the pizza bases…" Blair muttered.

"With the pizza bases, probably," Rie replied helpfully. "Why don't we split?"

Leila frowned. "That's what people do in horror movies."

"Is this a horror movie?" Xander asked.

"I mean, it is Walmart…"

"True." Xander nodded. "although, Rie has a point. We'd probably be faster, and you can get what you're missing too."

"Wait—" It wasn't one of the Selected that stopped them from the plan, but the members of the _Report_ team that had come along. The two, one of them holding a portable camera, paused. Oh, Sophia was going to kill him. Walmart did not fit into her 'fairy tale romance' theme. "We need footage of each of you three with the Crown Prince."

"… If we all walk together, we'll take forever. I want to get around to eating too," Leila noted.

"He can move between each of us. The camera team can follow him, and we go and grab whatever we need."

"Problem solved." Blair nodded.

"Thanks for considering my opinion too," Xander laughed sarcastic. "Sounds good to me."

The first of the girls he'd go along with was Blair, merely based on the fact that Rie – even in her wheelchair – and Leila were faster in leaving. Blair shrugged that off, and looked around. Xander took a deep breath. Yes, he was absolutely able to talk to women on their own. He had done that before.

"What do you need?"

"Pepperoni, mushrooms, ham, olives, green peppers, onions and shrimp."

"Shrimp?" Xander repeated. "People eat that on pizza?"

"… Yeah?" Clermont. Definitely Clermont. "What do you eat on your pizza?"

"... Cheese? Meat?"

"Wow," Blair laughed. "That's boring!"

"Excuse me? I'm very happy with my pizzas!"

"You're going to lose. Definitely going to lose." She paused. "Well, the palace has everything but shrimp, so we just need to grab that."

"Sure," Xander nodded, forcing a smile. A group? He could do. Apply the 'just friends' logic. He hadn't ever been to a supermarket with one friend alone, though. Then again, the Crown Prince of Illéa hadn't been to that many supermarkets in general. When they had time off during service, Walmart had never been their first place to go.

Blair nodded, and looked around. "Let's see… where do we find shrimp… Ah, there!"

Blair had spotted things much faster than Xander had; by the time Blair was moving, he had barely managed to comprehend the situation. One of the customers (he was pretty sure, at least) was wearing a towel as poncho.

"Strange things happen, huh?"

Blair laughed. "Have you ever even been to a Walmart before?"

"Yes, of course."

"How did that come to be?" Blair asked, still walking.

"Me and a few of my friends, when on duty, were out in town, and ended up wanting to buy something to drink, I believe. Walmart just happened to be closest, so we chose to go there. What about you?"

"Walmart is cheap," Blair replied with a shrug. "It's also the closest, so we always go there for grocery shopping. Have you ever been to a Walmart Black Friday?"

"No, but I've heard the tales."

They laughed. "By the way, Deylin mentioned that who-goes-on-which-date was randomised—is that true?" Blair asked.

"Yes, essentially. Pull a name out of the hat-type, although not literally. Why?"

"I was wondering why _I_ , the _lifeguard_ , was not invited to go _swimming_. Did you even have a lifeguard?" Blair rose her eyebrow, crossed her arms, but she did not hide the amused grin. "I'm jealous! Nereida seemed to be pretty happy with it."

Xander laughed out. "Again, I did not pay much more attention to it. If I look at one person's hobbies and all, I should look at everyone's, and I don't have the time to work that out."

"You do work a lot," Blair noted.

 _I know._ Cue some awkward silence as Blair picked up the shrimp she wanted. She took a pause to look at them, carefully. She probably noticed things that Xander wouldn't ever notice. He therefore, although awkwardly, waited in silence behind her. Surely, the camera team had enough of footage for now?

"Got them!" Blair declared. "Shall we go and grab the pizza bases for everyone?"

Xander nodded. "Good idea. How _did_ you become a lifeguard?"

"Oh," Blair shrugged as they went, "I've always been active at the beach, and I learned the skills when I was younger. Volunteer work and all, you know? All was cool, until the Unrest meant that less tourists came by and the beach almost became empty. Nobody wanted to be there either way, because most of the central-southern provinces were growing to be danger zones, and people expected Clermont to follow that. I guess it makes sense," Blair shrugged.

"Clermont never became a red province though."

"I know," Blair replied. "Their loss, I guess?"

"That's true."

"Then my brother was shot and my mother was worried, wanted me to stop. Then my dad disappeared and all went down. I was just a teenager, almost in my rebel phase, you know? I refused and kept on going, and when some lifeguards decided to leave the larger cities, some openings opened. I chose to take one, because it would pay, and I was already there all day.."

"I understand. Do you know what happened to your father?"

"Honestly," Blair sighed. She stopped walking and looked at the stained floor. "I don't, really. I'm fairly sure that my mother tried to keep something away from me. She lost her job back then, a lot happened and then there was that budding rebel base that was discovered in the neighbourhood."

"Budding rebel base? Pardon my ignorance, but what happened?"

"A bunch of students from my school thought it'd be fun to build up a system to listen to what they were doing and all. The whole neighbourhood was downgraded."

So, Blair had been a Six before the Unrest? How curious, Xander thought. The downgrade would have been a silver lining for the situation; it made her able to do what she wanted to, but of course, nobody would like it in general.

"I see."

"They were just stupid kids, so they were caught pretty quick. I think they were storing fireworks or something?" She shrugged, again. "I really don't remember. How about you? Any secret rebel facilities in the neighbourhood?" she joked.

It took Xander a moment not to take it harshly. Not to think about Jack, or Tori, or Vicky, or his mother, he then, however, shook his head. "No, not that I know of, and I'd hope I would know."

"Fortunate," Blair hummed. "What do you think of the Selection until now?"

"I… honestly… don't know?" Xander hesitated. It wasn't like he didn't not notice the cameraman suddenly definitely paying attention. He shook his head. "Given the decision it entails, I have excelled in the art of procrastinating thinking about it."

Blair laughed. "Any favourites yet?"

"I wouldn't think so…?" Xander replied. Did he have any favourites? He had only really spoken to a few ladies. Rosy, Harriet and Deylin. Veira, Jaira and Nereida. Irina, of course, but—He stopped when Irina's name fell into his mind. Irina. Evan's sister, he quickly added, but that didn't help that he couldn't help to think.

Back in real life, he shook his head.

"Aww, to bad. Anyone who'll definitely be out?"

Sloth Girl? Yeah, Sloth Girl. Definitely Sloth Girl. He couldn't say though. "I've not made any final decisions," he therefore chose to say.

"Aaah!" Blair laughed out. "There's a difference. You know someone who you want to eliminate? You definitely do."

"I—"

"Is it Zare? I'm fairly sure if you asked her, she'd happily go home," Blair noted. "I guess…" she shrugged.

"Zare?"

"Zarah Baine, from Paloma."

"I'll… if she wants to go home, she is free to, I guess?" Why would she want to head home?

Blair noticed the thoughts going through his mind. She shrugged. "She might just be trying it as an image or so, I don't know. Now, don't you wanna catch up with the others, or we get another debate on screen time?"

Xander forced a laugh. "Of course. We'll meet at the register, I assume?"

"Sure!" He missed that Blair changed the topic to avoid talking about the _secret_ _relationships_ going on. Blair sighed relieved.

Meanwhile, Xander headed down the aisles, followed by the suit-wearing guards that gained more attention than the country's prince regent in a casual work outfit. He didn't have the space of mind to worry about anything relating; he was far more concerned about even finding the Selected for now. The public, they could wait.

"Lady Leila," he called out a little too relieved when he found her. The tall brunette was standing in front of one of the shelves, with a bottle of red-brown sauce in her hand. She was reading the ingredients list before looking up.

"Oh, hey, my turn?" she joked. "Did you already get pizza bases?"

They had intended to, but didn't. "Not yet, no."

"Cool. I don't need anything besides this," she pointed to the sauce in her hand. "Shall we?"

"Of course, of course. What kind of sauce is that?"

"It's just normal barbeque sauce, but this brand is far, far better than any others. I'll die before I will ever be involved into any barbeque without this."

"Have you been to barbeques?"

"I've been to a lot of things since the Unrest begun."

"Such as?"

"I'm not a little rich girl anymore, for example," she begun. "After what happened to my brother, I became a firefighter."

"Your brother?"

"Hasn't Sophia told you?"

"I'm afraid, we don't tend to gossip about what the Illéan upper class is doing on a daily basis…?"

"Nor do I," Leila replied, "but I'm surprised you haven't heard of the story."

"Which story?"

"If I can avoid it, _Your Royal_ _Highness_ , I would prefer not to discuss it."

Xander frowned. Of course, he could inquire upon it. Maybe there was enough discussion about these serious things for today? He decided that it was, and that instead, he'd go back to, well, anything else.

"So, how exactly does it come that the Crown Prince of Illéa knows where the closest Walmart is? What's next—an IKEA date?"

"It's on the main road, you pass it," Xander replied, "but if you'd like that, I'm sure it can be arranged."

"Have you ever even been to IKEA?"

"No, have you?"

"Yes," Leila grinned. "I've got to get the furniture from somewhere, right?"

"So, you don't live at home anymore?" Xander concluded.

Leila Sinclair nodded. "I live in a small apartment with my co-workers." They stopped, having reached the coolers where the pizza bases were waiting. Leila opened them and picked up two packages—four, meaning one for each. Maybe, Xander thought, at some point they could do this together. All Selected, each one.

Alright, maybe not now with twenty-five girls, but once he had eliminated a few more. The idea itself sounded good though (and so much better than an IKEA date).

"By the way, do you mind if I ask something?"

"Depends?"

"What do you know about Zarah Baine?"

Leila turned to Xander, holding both the pizza bases and the sauce. He took the bases, and watched Leila scan his expression. He hoped that she understood. He hoped. "What's with her? Something fishy about her?"

"Why would you suggest such a thing?" Xander worried.

Leila shrugged. "She just feels like the type of person who would support the rebels. The comments she's made in class, her lack of any interest in the Selection… There's something about her that makes you think 'oh, she's definitely one of them'. That being said, I doubt she actually is a rebel. Just a supporter—like-minded person. I don't think she likes their violence, though."

"I see…" He'd need to look at her extra closely once that date happened…

"Why'd you ask?"

"Blair remarked something into that direction."

"Ah, I see," Leila nodded. "Nah, it's more that most of us are pretty sure that she's just in it for the money. She's pretty open about that. It's actually a bit sad, given the fact that she lives with her aunt and uncle, and they're well-off Twos."

"Go on…?"

"You know, I find the Selection in itself ridiculous, but it's sad to see that she, who doesn't need the aid as much as others do, take it. She holds no interest in politics or anything either. Most of us feel like she was hoping to be eliminated by the first cut."

"You are participating in this 'ridiculous' Selection," Xander noted.

"I have a different reason to why I came and why I need to stay."

"Which is?"

"Another thing I don't want to discuss."

Xander remained quiet. So many secrets about Leila—she was in no way one of the many ladies of high society as he remembered them in the pre-Unrest times. Back then, Leila had been a constant company to Veira and Sophia, chattering about clothes and gossip alike. It was almost as if Harriet had replaced her. "You've changed a lot."

"For the better." Leila paused. "What about you, Xander? Have you changed?"

Had he? Probably. He had grown up, went from 'accompanying the King' to 'ruling the country' without any warning and lost his sister, regained his sister and lost his mother forever. There was no way he would have gone through that without changing.

That didn't mean he knew how he changed.

"I'm sure I have," he replied.

"How?"

"That part, I'm not so sure about."

"How is _that_ possible?" Leila leaned back against the fridge.

Xander hesitated. He glanced into the brunette's eyes. If there was one thing that hadn't changed, then it was the power and confidence in her eyes indeed. Leila Sinclair was still Leila Sinclair, the daughter to a Vanderbilt descendant and to a respected general that even Jonathan acknowledged. Even if Leila had changed, these eyes hadn't.

"I've not had time to think about what changed. My whole life did, but I can't place what I did."

"Touché."

"You could say that, yes."

"Well, I got my pizza stuff. I'd say we'll try to find Rie. She can't be gone far, can she?" Leila looked around. Blair was chatting with someone at the registry, accompanied by the royal guard just as Leila and Xander were.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" Xander implied with a chuckle.

"No, it's more that I've seen these girls turn into hyenas when it comes to screen time, and Rie is one of the people I would not want to face if it comes to that." Leila started walking towards Blair, and waved. Of course, Xander thought, there was more to it. Maybe he asked too much, maybe this was a little too deep for the 'first date'.

With a sigh, he headed on to search for Gabriella Jespersen.

She wasn't around the pizza bases, and as it soon turned out, she wasn't with the fruits either. She probably had gotten her watermelons by now. Xander checked aisle for aisle, knowing that the guards could very well radio Rie's shadow.

It felt off to do that though.

He ended up standing in one of the aisles, looking around when Rie began laughing amused. He turned around to her, although not understanding why she was laughing. It was at him for sure—she was laughing at him. Just why?

"Excuse me?"

"What are you doing here, out of all places?"

"Pardon me?"

"This is the women's hygiene department," Rie deadpans. "Not so sure what you're doing here, your highness." The way she spoke; obviously a tease and Xander blushed. She had a valid point; unlike the lost prince, Rie leaned onto the armrest of her wheelchair, with a large watermelon in her left arm. She looked like she belonged here.

Xander did not. "Looking for you," he caught himself—only thanks to years of press training. It did not erase that painfully embarrassing blush.

"My turn, then? Come on, you can hold this melon—I need another one."

"… My pleasure?"

Rie pushed the large watermelon into his arm; if Xander had to guess, she probably was stronger then him, and wheeled off _. Gosh, she's fast with that thing_ , he found himself thinking as she moved back to the fruits and vegetables section. How she had found him, he did not know. The Report, surely, would enjoy such a segment—he made a mental note to prevent Ernest from putting it in.

Xander had to hurry to catch up with Rie, already in the fruits section. She inspected one of the melons quietly, with a scrutinizing expression.

"You are seriously doing a melon pizza?" he asked her, chuckling.

"Of course, I am!" Rie declared. "Obviously, it will win. Melon pizza is the best."

"Have you ever tasted one?" Xander cringed.

"Have you?" He took that as an answer to the question. "Either way, this melon will do. You can carry that too."

At first, per habit, Xander wanted to push back with a 'I'm sure you can do that too', but then he remembered—yes, of course, Rie may need her hands with the wheelchair, and not wanting to embarrass her, he just took the melon, as if he was a gentleman.

"So, I'm sure Leila and Blair have asked that, but Walmart?"

"Yes, Walmart." Xander's response was a little more lacklustre than he wanted it to be; he had been through this conversation.

Rie wanted no explanation. "Cooking?"

"Yes, cooking."

"Why cooking?" Rie leaned back. "I'm sure there's something more royal than _cooking_."

"I assume there is," Xander admitted, "but at the same time—I enjoy it. Why put something false up, when I can do something, I know _I_ will enjoy?"

"To ward off the ones that won't work?" Rie teased. "Well, I'm sorry to inform you, but in that case, you'll continue to have the pleasure of my breathtaking personality; I'm a master cook."

Xander smiled. "You're doing a melon pizza. I'm not sure if you can win with that."

"What masterpiece is His Royal Highness doing then?"

"…" Caught. "Cheese pizza."

Rie laughed. "Far too basic to win, sorry. Even Blair with her shrimp plan is going to do better."

"Have we even decided on a jury yet?" Xander asked, genuinely confused. They had not. He was pretty sure of that.

Rie shrugged. "Us? I mean, who else? The _Report_ staff? I don't want to do that to them." She paused. "I mean, we are having a cheese pizza, something with shrimp, my melon pizza and whatever Leila is doing… What _is_ she doing?"

"I have no idea," Xander admitted. "I do feel like she has the best shot."

"Never. I'll win. Melon pizza will rule the world."

Xander laughed. With both melons in his hands, he wasn't exactly in the position to just go "I doubt that", or anything—and besides that, he liked melon. The question was the combination with pizza.

"What's the two different melons for?"

"Well, I can't just put melon on the pizza base. I need some sort of sauce. I'm making a melon sauce."

"Melon sauce?"

"Boil sweet fine, some sugar, butter, flour, lemon and melon, and mix it. You get a melon sauce, I say. That's the plan, at least. We'll see how it actually goes."

"That's better than what I can do."

"Which is?" Rie paused. "Ramen in hot water?"

"Actually, I think I'm able to do frozen pizza too."

"Ooh, an ambitious one, I see!"

"I aim to please," Xander replied. "What about you? What's your best?"

Rie hesitated, pretending to think hard. "Of course," she begun, "I can warm up pasta. Yes, I think that is absolutely my best. If I feel ambitious, mac and cheese." She paused. "For real, what's your favourite food?"

"The palace kitchen does magnificent caviar appetizers. I need to say, these."

"That's fancy, there."

"I'm afraid, growing up in a palace does that to you, Lady Gabriella."

She paused. "It's just Beef bolognese for me, though. I'm sorry to disappoint."

"That is no disappointment, Lady Gabriella. It's your genuine opinion. Besides, it's good." He hoped that it was, at least. "How has your stay in Angeles been?"

"Great, if it wasn't for the fact that every second person asks 'Can I help you', when I'm perfectly fine on my own," Rie spat. "Other than that? The food's good."

"I am sure that the chefs will be glad to hear that."

"I didn't expect the palace to have elevators, though. That was quite the surprise, to be honest."

"They are rarely used," Xander admitted. "Although I believe that when transporting heavy things, the staff likes to sneak in."

"I mean, who wouldn't?"

It wasn't protocol (they were meant to use the staff tunnels) but Xander agreed. "Exactly."

The cash registry came to view, and with that, Blair and Leila who were quietly chatting with one another. Although Xander briefly wondered what they were speaking about, he chose not to ask, and the payment process went past quite easily.

Not too much later, the four plus staff found themselves back in the kitchen. Each went to their own pizza, although the growing 'tension', displayed through jokes and threats along the lines of 'my pizza will burn yours to death' filled the kitchen, and the pizzas soon disappeared to the oven.

"The head chef would probably hate us for this," Leila admitted. Ten minutes later, the bases had cooked—definitely not the fine Italian recipes that the palace preferred. They had Italians visiting later on for that.

"They're done!" Blair cheered. "We're going to taste them?"

"Maybe cut them first," Rie suggested. "Then each one can taste them, and we decide which wins."

"By the way, Lady Leila, what did you end up doing?"

"Oh," Leila waved it off. "Just your average meat lovers pizza. Nothing special."

Blair had already taken the pizza cutter and was working on her pizza (only characterised by the shrimp). Looking at them, by far, Rie's pizza looked the strangest, but Xander was proud to say that his cheese pizza didn't look too bad. It was average and nothing he wanted on TV, but hey, he wasn't a chef, but a prince. No cooking skills needed.

When the lady of Clermont finished, she handed out the plates. They could have gone for a fancy meal as planned, but the kitchen already was a mess and nobody was in the mood to move (read—they forgot), so each of the four found themselves with a high value porcelain plate standing at a kitchen bench and four questionable pizza slices on their plate.

"Who goes first?" Leila dared.

"The one who asks," Rie shot back.

"Happy to," Leila replied, though choosing her own pizza. She took a bite, chewed and grinned. "I say I win."

"Never!" Blair declared, picking up hers. Her reaction was similar, although her "Mine's better" came through a full mouth.

"Two left," Leila declared, looking at Rie and Xander.

Unlike Rie, Xander had nothing to fear about his simple cheese pizza, and he was happy to follow the motion, but in Rie's motion, he could see hesitation. To emphasise his position, he took another bite (hey, he was good at making pizza… or putting stuff on a base).

"Afraid?" Leila chuckled.

"No." Rie deadpanned. In the next second, she was eating the whole slice. "I win, it's absolutely the best."

"I need to try this," Blair then announced, but didn't get much past the first bite. " _This is worse than pineapple on pizza_."

"Pineapple on pizza is perfectly fine!" Leila curled her lips, and took a bite of Rie's melon pizza as well. "I mean, the sauce probably wasn't the best idea, and dry watermelon is also a little questionable but…"

"The base is alright?" Blair finished.

"So, what's your opinion?" Rie challenged Xander. "Everyone has tried but you."

Xander hid a cringe. "Of course," he slowly spoke, and took a bite of the slice. And chewed. And chewed. The dryness of the watermelon was, probably, just as bad as its clash with the sweetness of the sauce.

Clearly, Rie had done this out of 'I can do it', not because of her taste.

"I think… I'll stay with cheese for now."

They laughed. Xander did too, because it was amusing. They had a little more pizza to eat, and a winner to crown (which, all, eventually agreed to be Leila). Xander, in his opinion, did well.

 _One will be your wife._ Xander knew that. _Yes, yes, friends first,_ he told himself. _The last time you fell for someone head over heels, she turned out to be a rebel leader._

At least Tori didn't make melon pizza.

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **Full disclaimer: I've never even seen a Walmart. This was merely based on a Discord conversation. Half of this chapters was inspired by the Discord, thanks, love you guys. Merry Christmas, when I next update, Fallout will be a year old! :D**

 **Next Chapter:** »The unicorn balloon proved to be quite useful.«


	34. Chapter 33

**Fallout**

 _Louis and Veira spoke about her experience. The ball team made their plans. Xander's planned cooking date turned into a visit to Walmart. From Blair, he learned one or two things, while he warmed up a bit with Leila, an old friend. Rie made melon pizza._

 **Chapter 33**

»The unicorn balloon proved to be quite useful.«

 **The Goldfinger, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Prince Ernest of Illéa**

Ernest Illéa needed a few things: a drink, time off with his girlfriend and a solution to a problem. A very big problem.

So, when he invited Nereida to come and go clubbing with him just as they had in Bonita, she, being Nereida Statten, had not noticed the hint of 'this is a date', and dragged along 'some friends'. Namely a bunch of Selected.

"At least the club is big," he thought, before seeing how much all the girls, undercover and all, enjoyed themselves. Who was he to judge if they wanted to go out. He did, all the time. It was nice to be among real people. Jonathan would probably disapprove of this, he thought.

"Are you worried about your grandfather?" Nereida asked him between the loud beats of the DJ. Naïve, innocent and what not, that didn't mean that she didn't know him.

Ernest frowned. "He'd probably disapprove of this on multiple layers."

Nereida sulked. "Can't you ignore him for the evening? He doesn't know you're here. Why would anyone tell him?"

"Because he was the one to call me when I went out for the first time in Bonita. Contact to check if my family is alright? Oh, no, that's too much of a safety risk," he mocked Jonathan, "but to tell me that I'm being one big annoyance again? Because I'm being a normal teenager? Oh, yeah, sure we can do that!" He sighed. "Alright. You're right."

"See?" she hummed. "He's not here, so he can't care."

Then again, they both knew that Jonathan Wilde had caught him countless miles away from home. They were what—twenty minutes away from the palace?

"Just enjoy yourself. You've been so busy all week. I've barely even seen you."

Ernest leaned against her. Yeah, that was true. "Sorry," he muttered. "Work." And the fact that he didn't trust Jonathan to just throw Nereida out if he learned of their relationship. "I'm working on it."

"What does that even mean?"

"Manipulating the Report, and figuring out a way to bring up… stuff. Give me some time—I've never done this before!" he chuckled.

Nereida sighed, disappointed. "Alright… Do we wanna join the others?"

"And get recognised? No. Why don't we just go to the dance floor? Don't you want to beat me in yet another dance off?" Ernest teased. A dance off against a professional dancer had always been a stupid idea, but… it was fun. Just as fun as Nereida's hoodie collection (predominantly present in Bonita) that totally didn't come from Ernest's closet.

"Oooh, yes!" Nereida cheered nonetheless, "yes, let's do that!"

And this was how Ernest once again embarrassed himself. Nothing new, nothing that he minded, and if even, he was just glad to watch Nereida in her element. While Nereida, quickly making herself home on the dancefloor, had the energy to go on for days and days with no end, Ernest was happy to leave her be after a few songs.

"You okay?" Blair, waiting at the bar, asked. She looked gloomy—just like the people had when his mother had been killed. Did something happen?

Ernest huffed. "Yeah. Just need a break. How about you? Why aren't you with the others?"

It took Nereida ten seconds to notice that Ernest was gone, and so, she appeared now. Wordless, Ernest handed her a drink—both to say 'welcome back' and 'I need a break'.

"What's up? Where are the others?"

Blair shrugged. "Somewhere in the club."

"You look sad," Nereida said in-between drinking. "Did you lose a dance-off?"

Blair shook her head. "Nah. Just missing Benjamin and my family."

Benjamin was, Ernest dared to remember, her secret boyfriend. Of course there were going to be girls like that (he and Nereida were guilty of that too—much more than Blair and others), and from what he remembered, in Blair's caste, she had come for the change in caste system.

"You came here because his family didn't want him to marry a Seven?"

"That, and because we dropped down."

"Dropped down?"

"There was a rebel base in the neighbourhood, and everyone around it dropped in the castes—"there's no way you didn't notice anything", they said." Blair shrugged. "I don't know much about it; my mum told me."

"Ah, I see." That happened a lot in the Unrest. Another thing Project Omega would need to deal with. _Eliminate the chances that the rebellion could rise again_ , Jonathan liked to say. Jonathan generally liked to say things. "What did you do before?"

"I can't imagine you working inside as Six…" Nereida thought aloud.

"Oh, no ,we were Threes. I was just going to school, and my mum was a kindergarten teacher. Dad was a software engineer. My brother went to university, before he was shot."

"Wait—what?" Ernest paused.

"Yeah, my brother was shot."

"No, the other thing."

"… My parents' jobs?"

"You were a Three and went down to Seven?"

Blair shrugged again. "Yeah, why?"

"Isn't that what happened when people were considered to have rebel connections?" Nereida asked. She had no idea—given the absolute lack of rebel presence in the poor South of Illéa, that was expected though.

"Yes—but the people in someone's neighbourhood would just drop by one caste."

"Well… I became a Seven so…" Blair's suggestion that he was missing something felt off.

"I don't know as much about that stuff as Xander and Louis do," Ernest begun, "but that sounds incorrect. Did your parents never check with the local Province Service Office if that was correct? It sounds like an accounting error."

"My mum was not herself anymore when dad disappeared."

"So, she never checked?"

"I doubt it…?"

"Then it must have been an error. You should have become Fours, not Sevens."

Blair hesitated and glared at her (barely touched) cocktail. She stirred with the straw, thinking. Ernest wondered if she thought about how her life would have gone, had she not become a Seven. Fours were the middle class of Illéa. Most had their own businesses and employed Sevens and Sixes, but didn't do as well as Threes, or had as much influence as Twos. She wouldn't have been a lifeguard, but who knows—she maybe wouldn't have ended up here in the Selection either.

Whenever that was good or bad would show later.

"I can look into it, if you want me to," Ernest suggested.

"Oooh, detective work! That sounds fun!"

"More like telling someone to grab the files from Clermont," he joked, "but sure."

Blair nodded. "Why not? Sounds good to me."

"Maybe you'll get something more than just getting back to being a Three out of the Selection, then!" Nereida cheered. "Surely, you could sue them and get money from that. Your mum would probably become a Three again too."

"… That's awfully cold-hearted for you, Tiny," Ernest noted.

"One of the characters in your new play did it!"

"…. True."

Blair rose. "Enough sulking. I'm sure I'll see Ben soon enough. Are you two lovebirds going to join the others?"

"Honestly," Ernest looked at his girlfriend. "I think we'll come later." Or not at all. Who'd know.

Blair grinned. "Have _fun_ ," she hummed.

"Do you want a second chance on a dance off?" Nereida teased once Blair had disappeared into the crowd of people. The club is hot—people, drinks, music, lights and loud. Years of living in the peaceful Bonita made the city's noises worse.

"Ehh…." Ernest shook his head. "I wouldn't have a chance either way. Wanna go outside and get some fresh air?"

"Sure!" she piped. And so, they headed outside, into the cold. There was a little spot off the road, nearby the entrance to the Goldfinger, that Ernest remembered a little too well… He had changed, he told himself.

"You know what I miss about home?" Nereida asked. She snuggled against Ernest.

"Your family?"

"Them too," she replied. "But I mean the night sky." She pointed up to the cloudy, grey sky. Even if it was nearly midnight, there were no stars. They could be seen from the coast in Portaviro, but Ernest understood what she meant.

"Too much light pollution," he said.

"It's sad. The city is beautiful and all, but I miss the stars."

"I do, too." More that he missed the midnight picnics with her, but it was the same, wasn't it?

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking to the stars," Nereida quoted. "That's not possible now, huh…"

Ernest chuckled. "Not really, no. Bonita is much prettier in that way." He paused. "I think my grandmother once mentioned that there was a photographer that took photos of city skylines as if there was no electricity? It's some fancy editing and travelling involved, I think…"

Nereida chuckled. "Can you imagine Los Angeles without electricity?"

No, not really. Not when the city was just past the 'a war happened here half a year ago' stage. Ernest believed that there had been times where the electricity didn't function perfectly well, but that had been solved by now—and the ruins were gone. Who knew—maybe there were other ruined cities with prettier night skys? "We could ditch the others," Ernest suggested, "and drive away, out of the city. I'm sure we can get past the city and light pollution."

"Oooh!" Nereida laughed. "That'd be so much fun! … Except that you have work, and I have lessons…" She looked down onto the dirty asphalt.

"True," Ernest cringed. "Such is adulthood."

"I don't like it."

"Same. Can I cancel it, please? Go back to being a kid?"

"But that'd mean that you couldn't go out clubbing."

"Since when do _I_ care? Me? Ernest Henry Illéa?"

"Wait—Henry is your middle name?"

"Uh, yeah." Ernest laughed. "I still can't believe you never recognised me."

Nereida grinned. "Does it matter? You're the same person, aren't you?" True. That was true—or at least, Ernest liked to think that. "It's just a name. I wasn't born as Nereida Rue Statten; it's the name my parents gave me when they adopted me. It's just a name."

"But if you weren't Nereida Rue Statten—the Statten Dancer—who'd you be?"

"A… human?" Nereida blanked.

"If I was actually just 'Oscar, Gideon's nephew', then would I be the same person? I mean—so much in my life has been dedicated by my surname along and—"

"But does _that_ matter?" Nereida paused. "This alternative universe stuff is complicated. Save that for your next play."

Ernest smiled and slung an arm around his girlfriend. Yes, it was, and even if it was interesting to think about, Nereida had a point. It did not matter. He maybe was Ernest Illéa, but to Nereida, he was just himself.

Given what he was still considering, that was important.

Being himself.

He smiled. "I'm damn glad that I _am_ Ernest Illéa, because otherwise I wouldn't have ended up in that gutter you call Portaviro."

"It's not a gutter! Portaviro is beautiful! Much less polluted than Los Angeles!" Nereida defended. "If you had the choice, where'd you live?"

In Portaviro with its small beach, lively market and local theatre scene, or the buzzing mega city Los Angeles?

"I say I'll take the private jet and both."

"Private jet?!"

"… Yeah? Tiny, I'm a prince. _Of course,_ we have private jets."

"Why did we fly on a commercial plane then? I mean—yeah, that's really cool in itself." Nereida had never been in an airplane before, of course. "Why not a big fancy private jet though? Doesn't Sophia want this all to look like in a movie?"

Ernest shrugged. " _Chances_ are that was Xander and his budgeting."

"Budgeting? Isn't your family _super_ rich?" That rumour had granted Nereida the additional nickname 'The Girl With the Rich Boyfriend' in Portaviro. Hopefully nobody online would catch find of that until _after_ Ernest was done with this all.

"Running a country is expensive, I guess?" Ernest shrugged.

"I hate maths." Nereida deadpanned.

"Wasn't it _your family_ that had that super strict saving policy?" Ernest remembered. "I think we were going to bake a birthday cake for your sister, and you couldn't get icing because of it?" Of course, Ernest being Ernest had just shrugged and thrown in ten dollars (and gotten a mountain of 'Ernest, you can't just waste money like that, because it was a pretty girl' by Jonathan).

Nereida paused. "I mean… yes?" She shrugged. "I… don't usually do the maths? Mum does it?"

"True," Ernest laughed. "You know what—we should do that again."

"Build a super-sour orange cake to prank Sirena?"

Ernest hesitated. "That would require us to fly her into Angeles… but that sounds doable. You know… Tiny…" He hesitated.

 _Now?_

 _No._

 _But when then?_

 _When things are worked out._

 _Will they ever be?_

 _Not with Jonathan._

"Yeah?" Nereida hummed.

"I love you," Ernest dodged. Not now. Some other time. Some time when everything would have been worked out, and when everything would be fine. Nereida deserved a real thing, not just something quickly done in the alley. He could ask her to stay with him forever—to marry him—another time. They had a lifetime for that.

Nereida, oblivious as always, smiled. "I love you too," she said, and kissed him.

Ernest didn't move—he had no reason to. Why look to the sky, when you have stars right in front of you? Even when Nereida eventually let go, he didn't move. It got colder, yes, but Nereida was all the warmth he needed. She was all he needed.

"Do you want to go to the beach?" she suggested. "I'm fairly sure that's prettier than an alley."

Ernest wanted to. "What about the others at the club? They'll question why we're gone…"

"Does that really matter?" Nereida sulked. "Why do we have to keep this secret?"

"Because my grandfather sucks."

She sighed. "I don't like that."

"Same here," he replied. "I don't want to risk losing you—that's most important to me, Tiny. I'm willing to wait forever, if it means staying with you."

That made her smile, and that smile was good. "Oh. I see," she laughed.

/ / /

 **Xander's office in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

Today, Xander did not pace nervously up and down.

A part of that was because Irina was part of today's date.

Another part was because he had a mountain of government work to work through before the looming threat of yet another date would come on. At least, he reminded himself as he turned a page of a report, Irina was part of today's date and that meant he had one kindred spirit with him. She had been quite excited when they had met, earlier.

Xander turned another page, without having registered one single word. The report he was reading was important—it concerned the costs of the Sumner rebuilding and needed approval, because the provincial government didn't have the money to pay for it. It needed help from national level, and the prince had involved himself so much with it that they had just send it forward to him, not the Minister of Infrastructure. That wasn't a problem, Xander told himself.

Someone knocked, and entered. Xander looked up, fully expecting it to be Tori (although—why would she come in? He did not want news from _her_.), but found himself graced by Irina's presence instead. Part of him was relieved (good—no news concerning the tracking of surviving rebels), part of him tensed.

Today's date included her.

"Hey," she began, sitting down as she often did.

"Can I help you anyhow?" Xander replied, dropping the report. He was pretty sure that Irina (or any of the Selected) were meant to just walk around in the government wing, but given how often he had invited her to come by, none of the guards had questioned it. Or Evan was around.

Probably Evan.

"Not really," she replied, "although I'm surprised." Her smile was playful—much more than she usually did, but he couldn't say that he didn't like that.

"About what?"

"You haven't invited me to come over today."

Xander blinked. "Alright…?"

"You always do that when there's a date coming up."

"Oh, do I?" Did he look oblivious? Hopefully he did—by no means did Xander want to admit that. He did not need the prep talk of _one of the Selected_ to go onto _dates_.

He couldn't find an answer in Irina's expression, and she didn't reply. Instead, Irina nodded to the papers. "You look busy."

"Exactly." That was _absolutely_ why he hadn't asked her to come over.

"Are you planning to read and work through that whole pile today?"

"… Yes?"

"The convention opens at eleven, and closes at six. _How_." She deadpanned. "We are _not_ missing a second of it."

Xander cringed inside. To be fair, if he could decide, he would have avoided both. "This is government work, Irina—I can't just put it aside."

"Any new developments with your father?" she asked. "You told me that Victoria barged in and confused everyone."

Yeah, although he had only heard of that second time. "I do appreciate her coming along to meetings," Xander admitted. "I don't want her to do this for me though, if that's what you're implying."

Victoria, by no means, was in the position of capable to deal with this.

"I wasn't implying 'go and have Victoria run the country'. She's a lovely young woman, but I agree."

Did she know the nightmares Vicky had? They never really talked about it, but Xander couldn't help but believe in it.

"What were you implying then?"

"She wanted to talk to your father."

Xander sighed. Not another one. "I really doubt anyone talking to him will make a difference. Dad—he—"

"Yes?"

"The whole Unrest burned him out. Then mother's death, that was the finishing. I can't imagine that there's anything that'd make him change right now."

"From the rare appearances we've seen, he looks like a zombie."

He couldn't deny that. "I mean…" He meant what? It was true.

"So, talking to him doesn't help." Irina stated. "What if you just drag him along or—"

"Irina, where are you going with this?" He interrupted, annoyed. "It's just today. It's a long report and—"

Irina sighed. "Xander, it's not just today. The dates? Based on your hobbies? When was the last time you went swimming? You have a pool here, so that shouldn't be so difficult. When was the last time you went to hang out with friends? I doubt Evan has seen much of you, outside work and all."

"I mean—" Dammit. She had a point. The last time he had been swimming (outside the date) definitely had been before the Selection announcement. "That's—" He sighed. "True. You're right. Of course, you are."

"Have you considered just telling him? Giving him a reality check?"

"I—" Could he just do that? He couldn't—at least he couldn't imagine that. Raising his voice against his father just felt—off. Ernest? Maybe Louis? Yes. Dad? No. Never.

"Something _needs_ to happen."

"I know."

"You don't have the time for both the Selection and running a country."

"I know."

"Nor do you have the experience."

"Hey!" Xander called out. "Illéa is doing… relatively well?"

Irina shrugged. "That does not change that you're in your twenties. You're probably the youngest head of state in the whole world."

"Head of state and head of government are different in some countries—"

"Your point being?"

None, really.

"Look at it from the perspectives of foreign leaders," Irina suggested. "Illéa is trying to stay out of the British Commonwealth-New Asian tensions, right? How much would the president of New Asia feel like he can rely on a child to stay neutral?"

"I'm not a—oh. I see." She didn't mean it literally—she wanted him to tell his father that. Give him a reason to come back. Something only he could do. "I can try, but…"

"But?" Irina repeated.

"I still don't think this will convince him."

Irina rolled her eyes. "You haven't tried it yet, have you?"

"I mean—" He hadn't, but how high was the chance that it would actually help? He leaned back in his chair, and glanced at the report on his table. Silence fell, as Irina didn't move. She looked at him—probably judged him. She had a point, but—it wouldn't work. He couldn't imagine that happening. Never ever.

Irina's watch beeped—an alarm?

"Ah, there we go. It's time to go," she hummed.

"Huh?"

"Distraction worked, didn't it?"

"What." Xander, very un-princely, asked.

"There's no way you would have been doing any serious work before the date," Irina replied light-hearted. She rose. "Now, come on. Kate and Andreia are probably waiting."

"I—" That all had been a distraction? It certainly worked but…

Irian didn't give him time to think about what had been going on; she rose and walked straight through the door, leaving Xander to gather what he needed and follow her to the grand hall. Hopefully (he doubted it), the convention would prove a distraction from that conversation.

Andreia Jensen and Katheryn "Kate" Blanchard would, alongside Irina, come along. Irina had spent enough time with Andreia to catch that she was quite found of League of Legends, a video game that just like Lord of the Rings had gained popularity in recent years, and it was no secret that Kate loved Young Adult books and "Wattpad Fanfictions". Whatever that meant.

"Good morning, ladies," he replied with his best politician smile.

"Hello!" Kate waved enthusiastically. "Finally! You took so long! Can we go now? Can we?"

"I wouldn't say there is anything stopping us," Xander replied. Had the two noticed that they came together? What would they think? Kate, from what he had seen and heard, was too oblivious, and Andreia seemed decent enough not to say anything but— _what if?_ That meant that he would need to deal with the meaning behind these prep talk meetings.

But they didn't say a thing. As much as he tried looking for a clue that they noticed, they didn't, and that alone was good. Therefore, in the car ride to the convention, the four discussed nothing but "where do we go when".

 _One will be your wife._

The convention, held in the Los Angeles Convention Center, was attended by camera teams and guests alike—Xander was well aware of that—but to him and the palace security (that had to go through all date plans), this was good. Crowds had proven to be no issues during the first date, but now, cameras were a common occurrence (even if they were predominantly news and livestreams).

"So, our first stop is _League of Legends_?" Kate asked.

"Please don't get lost, Katheryn," Irina replied instead. _To be fair_ , Kate did seem to be the type to get lost.

"I won't!" she insisted. "Oh look, plushies!" Cue Kate Blanchard running into the crowd because on the other side of the hall, there was a store selling plushies.

Irina, Andreia and Xander sighed alike. The two Selected gave another a look, before Irina spoke again, "I'll go and find her. Shall we meet at the League of Legends part?"

What a great coincidence to spend time with Andreia alone. (not).

"Good idea. Maybe if we get Kate a balloon, she'll be easier to find?" Andreia added on.

But— _money_. Stuff at conventions always costed more. Surely, they could find an easier, less 'spend money' way to make sure they didn't lose track of Kate again, could they? Before Xander could even voice his concerns about finances though, Irina disappeared into the crowd.

"Does that happen on all dates? Losing a Selected, I mean," Andreia asked, looking at Xander.

"… Not that I remember?" he replied hesitant. From what he understood, the resident airheads were Nereida and Kate, and Nereida hadn't gotten _lost_ …

"That's good to know."

 _One will be your wife, Xander. Start a conversation. It can't be that bad._

"So… League of Legends. How did that come to be?"

"I like competitive things, but because of my work, I don't have a lot of time and energy left to go out and do something. It's a good wat to let out my competitive spirit."

Straight forward answers. Good. He could do that. "How about you? Someone said that you took your hobbies for the first dates. Does the convention count too?"

Xander shook his head. "No."

"How did this come, then?"

"My best friend suggested it, because he knows Irina and she added on about you and Kate."

"Evan?" Andreia concluded.

"Yes. We've met ages ago and have stuck together ever since."

"It must be awkward for him to have his sister around."

"I—I guess? I haven't had time to catch up with work and everything. He seems to be pretty happy about it. Plus—" Xander hesitated. "There was the whole drama about the Cavanahs thinking he was dead."

"I remember. I was there."

"Right, true." They met before the real first meetings.

"Your Royal Highness, if you don't mind me asking," Andreia begun. "The… probably rather secure, no-reveal information you gave me then, who knows of it?" The hacking of the AirForce. Xander remembered. "It doesn't appear appropriate to share."

Ouch. Yeah. She had a point. "I'm aware. I was rather nervous and forgot, but you don't appear to be the type that would reveal such information."

"I understand," Andreia replied. "Have you ever tried playing games?"

Xander laughed. "No, never. It never even occurred to me. Plus, I always had my siblings around. _Something_ always happened."

"I often play with my brother. You should try."

"I… can't imagine Louis even using a computer, to be completely honest. He would probably throw a book at me."

"What about Prince Ernest?"

"I could see that happening, but he's changed ever since he's come home and I haven't had the time to figure out what exactly has changed."

"Oh." Andreia paused, thinking. "You both spent a lot of time apart. Even my brother and I, who just work in different precincts, have changed ever since."

"Your brother works in the police too?"

Andreia laughed. "Oh, yeah, he does. We actually have a 'Who arrests more people' battle going on at the moment. I was leading when I left for Angeles, but I'm assuming that has changed by now."

"Did he have the same plans as you? Going into the Air Force?"

Andreia nodded. "He did. I think he's pretty happy at work right now, though, so I doubt he'll change career. I don't know for myself, to be honest."

They reached the part of the convention centre where the logo of League of Legends hung over a stage. On the stage itself, a group of, Xander presumed, ten players sat at computers, with a large projected screen in the background. Lots of people watching, some people playing and heaps of characters.

"I… have no idea of video games," he muttered to himself.

"Okay, so," Andreia begun. "You see these ten players on the stage? They are two teams, five each. Behind, on the screen? Each of the players is one of these characters, a champion, and they are trying to destroy the other team's _nexus_. They do that by destroying the _lane's turrets_ first. Each has three of them. Then there are two that guard the nexus. There are multiple lines, and everyone takes one except for support and jungler."

"Okay…?"

"Think… fancy group capture the flag, but you destroy the flag and it's with fancy weapons and magic, played on a screen."

"Do you want to try?"

Please no, he'd embarrass himself. "… Can I say no?"

"Nah," the camera man replied. "Sorry, sir. This is gold material."

"Come on, it's really fun!" Andreia laughed. "See? There are computers to play on. You just get thrown into a random game." She fetched them two of the computers. "Let's see… which champion could you play well…"

She clicked a bunch of things on her own screen—Xander, essentially, saw a bunch of colours and words—and then began with a few characters. "Alright, here we have… Amumu, the Sad Mummy, for example, or Garen, the Might of Demacia. Ranged or melee?"

"I—melee?"

"Yeah, then we'll go with Garen."

More clicking, a brief 'intro to controls' and a selected game later, Xander began to play League of Legends.

He moved the character—champion—across the map. If they had to get to the enemy nexus, he believed the best idea to be to get there. Of course, that wouldn't work that way in reality, but it's a video game, after all. That was, until Xander vaguely realised that the turret, a strange grey stature, was targeting him.

"Oh my, what do I do now?"

"Do— _what are you doing?_ " Andreia asked and began typing into the chat. He died. The HP bar went to zero, and woosh, he died. The screen turned black and white, and Andreia glared. Poor girl.

"Okay. You died. You'll respawn eventually. Maybe… not run into enemy territory immediately."

"GET THE GAME RIGHT, YOU FUCKING NOOB!" thirteen years old boy around shouted at no one particular—except it was probably him. Cue camera team laughing. If someone recognised them now…

Obviously, Andreia and their team lost, thanks to their very much incompetent player, Xander. Before the kid that had just shouted could find him (or anyone could recognise them), he stood and friendly nudged Andreia to come with him back into the safe 'no we are not playing, just watching' area.

"I don't think I'll start playing that game," Xander said.

Andreia chuckled. "Everyone has to learn. At least you didn't solo take the Baron."

 _What._ "I—where the others?" Xander changed the topic. Neither Kate nor Irina were anywhere close, and given the size of the crowd, it wouldn't be that easy to find Kate—at least by his experience with crowds.

"Look, a flying unicorn," Andreia pointed out.

At first, Xander expected that to be sarcasm, but then he recognised the large white-turquoise-pink unicorn balloon on the other side of the League of Legends area. Following the balloon's strap, he recognised Kate and Irina in the crowd, talking. At least it looked like Kate was talking—Irina was looking for them.

"It's them," Xander agreed.

"Ah, found them!" Kate called out—a little too loud for Xander's taste but at least the rest of the convention-attending crowd was equally loud—and waved to them.

"Shall we join them?" Andreia suggested. Xander nodded.

"The presentation is about to start, I think," Irina remarked, referring to the League of Legends event they came for. She had a good point; the crowd was starting to move towards the stage and the lights changed. They watched it in silence ("thank you, I like no talking"—Xander).

"Lord of the Rings is next, isn't it?" Andreia asked once the crowd around the stage had dispersed a little.

"Oooh, I loved _The Hobbit_! Such great worldbuilding!" Kate cheered. " _Gwaem!_ "

"… Pardon me?" Xander asked.

"It's Elvish for 'let's go'," Irina translated.

"Lord of the Rings has its own language?"

"It has a lot more," Irina hummed. "I agree. Let's go. There's a presentation on _Weta Workshops_. It's the studio that did the special effects back then."

"Isn't _Lord of the Rings_ very old? As in, pre climate change?" Andreia asked. "I know that League of Legends was re-created, what about the movies?"

"The books from that time are the same as today," Irina replied as they started walking. "The movies were found too, although damaged, but most of the presentation I want to see is about the history of their work. There's also a cosplay contest, if you're interested, but given the current economy, that seems to be a little waste of resources."

Xander chuckled to himself while Irina continued to explain. Of course, she would think of that. Good to know. The conversation quickly moved to how the 'doomsdays', as history called major events during that time period, had been predicted by numerology and astrology, and whenever that was just a chance.

"There are so many people here!" Kate, at some point, called out. Given the topic of asteroids hitting the atmosphere of Earth, it was rather uncalled. They laughed either way.

"How did you only notice this now?" Andreia asked with a sigh. Going by the way she scanned the crowd, she definitely had.

With Kate continuing to point out 'surprising' things, mesmerised by the crowds she evidently wasn't used to, they made their way to the 'Lord of the Rings' part of the convention. On a neatly decorated stage, with large circular doors and strange windows, as if build into a hill.

"Look! They have merchandise! Oooh! I wanna go and see that!"

Collective sighs happened when Kate ran off, again. If this was going to be any form of common theme, then at least, Xander thought, he could use that to take turns with each girl again. "Lady Andreia, would you mind making sure that Lady Katheryn doesn't get lost?"

Whenever she gasped the idea behind his words or not, Andreia nodded. "Of course." She followed Kate into the crowd, to the vague spot of merchandise. The unicorn balloon proved to be quite useful.

Irina, next to him, sighed. Not because of Kate, as it turned out; it was a wishful one. "I wish I could go there in person," she whispered to herself, taking in the carefully designed stage. Fairy lights hung over the crowd, and various incredibly detailed statures surrounded by red queue barrier. They clearly weren't meant to be touched. One was a larger man in grey robes, another a small, hunching being, and another a strange looking man with large feet.

"Where?"

"New Zealand." She pointed towards videos running on a large screen, show casting sceneries that Xander just couldn't think to be of this world. Endless green hill lands, sapphire blue rivers, and forests up to the horizon. "There was a time when I was considering trying to go there for an exchange, but then the Unrest happened and there was no way I could have gotten a spot."

"That is… unfortunate."

"With the New Asian-Commonwealth tensions right now, it's not getting better either."

The New Asian-Commonwealth tensions. Yes. He'd need to deal with that. He had assured the New Asian president that Illéa had all too many reasons to remain neutral, but the British were pushing, reminiscent of past alliances. That being said, there were, from what Xander gasped, enough tensions between the members of the Commonwealth either way…

There'd need to be a summit at some point. Not only with all of the British Commonwealth, but all their allies as well. That would include Illéa. Hopefully that wouldn't risk their fragile peace with New Asia…

Politics.

"It's unfortunate."

"Is there anywhere you want to travel?" Irina wondered.

"Not in particular. My mother always insisted on us seeing all of Illéa after my father had grown up so sheltered."

"Yes, but outside Illéa? There's much more to the world, you know."

"I've been to Italy."

"You mean Rome, and the government."

"I mean—" She had a point. He hadn't even set foot outside the residence the last time they had been there. Back then, and that was ages ago already, Italy had grown discontent. "We couldn't go out because of Carl."

"That's your cousin, right? The Prince of Piedmont? Heir to Italy? I hope I remember our lessons right."

"You do."

"Why did he stop you? What did he do?" Irina asked. Normally, at least a 'if I may ask' should be added, but he knew better than to expect that from Irina—and they were beyond that since ages too.

"Carl—Italy is doubting his suitability for the throne. He has no interest in politics, and has made a point of pointing that out. That type, you know?"

"As if Ernest was the Crown Prince, and not you?"

Xander chuckled. "He would probably throw a tantrum if that happened."

Irina joined. "Let's be glad that you are. But seriously—besides Italy. Is there any place you _want_ to go?"

"If it would help, Britain, again, to solve the tensions but—"

"No politics. Just you. Privately. As Xander Illéa, not His Royal Highness The Prince Regent of Illéa."

"I—Irina I've never even had the chance to think about that."

"Well, what about your honeymoon. Where'd you want to do that?"

Xander blushed. Blushed hard. "I—we _both_ ," and he said that with emphasis, "are well aware that I prefer not to think of the Selection to end."

"Besides for financial matters."

"Besides that, yes."

" _Why_ is it that you are so fixated on love? Do you really expect to find—" Irina broke off. She looked to Xander, in his eyes and he looked into hers. From the non-callant, obvious tone, she took a breath. "Why is it that you're so worried about finding love?"

Xander hesitated.

"Whoever I chose, it'll have major consequences. You know that."

"Xander, I—"

"Irina—no."

"But—"

"No."

They both knew that there was more to it. They both knew that something was left unsaid. They both knew that this wasn't something they would ever discuss on camera—even if Xander had a veto on the _Report_ content.

"These statures, are they from _Lord of the Rings_?" Xander asked, to change topic.

Irina nodded, and looked aside. She scanned the statures, and pointed to one of a small being. "That there, for example, is Frodo. He is the protagonist of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. That there is Gandalf. He is a powerful wizard who helps the cast. He said the line 'You shall not pass'. It's pretty popular. Have you heard it?"

Xander had. "Yes. Somewhere. Probably you."

She didn't smile or laugh or anything that Xander had hoped. "And that there, that is Smaug. He is from The Hobbit. A dragon that took the mountain of the dwarfs. That strange thing there? That's Gollum. He's the one with 'my precious'."

"You say that a lot too."

"Hmhm…"

"At some point, you need to make me watch these movies."

Irina nodded. She still didn't look at him. "Yeah…" To be fair, he had changed the topic. He had left things unsaid. He had made this awkward.

He took a deep breath, and continued looking. "What about that there?" he asked.

"It's the Ring. The One Ring. It's the main thing the movies are about. Destroying it."

"I see."

"It also grabs Bilbo invisibility. Biblo is Frodo's cousin."

"I see."

"He narrates and is the protagonist of _The Hobbit_. It's set many years before the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy."

"I see."

"That there is Sauron. He's the titular lord of the rings. He's also often symbolised by the Eye of Sauron. It's over there." She pointed to a much darker, greyer area of the neatly made stage. "There's a whole world, with languages and history behind the story. I can't explain everything right now, and I'm sure that the cameras," she nodded to the quietly lurking camera team, "wouldn't want to be bored with that."

"I—" Xander paused. "That makes sense."

"Shall we go and join Katheryn and Andreia, then?"

"Sure," Xander replied with a terrible forced smile. He definitely needed to have this part cut this out…

They joined Kate and Andreia at the store, where Kate was already waiting in line—to buy whatever she intended to. Xander hadn't brought any money, but Kate, evident by the balloon probably had.

They walked past colourful fandoms, with Andreia helpfully guiding their way to the literature section where they'd find Kate's Young Adult stuff. Upon the (naïve) question of 'what is this exactly' by Xander, Kate had fallen into a long discussion of what exactly the Young Adult genre was, what it entailed, popular books and why 'The Selection' was terrible.

Going by what Xander heard, Kate had a point.

"Oh, look, flowers!" Kate's random 'pointing out' continued too. "Mum would like that."

"Would she?" Xander, lost, asked.

"She has a weird thing with black roses. And weird words. I guess if you lock your kid in the basement, you're probably weird."

"… Excuse me?" That wasn't exactly what Xander had heard. Or understood how she could say that so casually.

"She says that I just 'lived in the nuclear bunker during the difficult phases of the war'. It's a glorified basement, I say. The Wi-Fi was terrible."

"… That is a first world problem, Blanchard," Irina blurted out.

"What's that?"

"A first world problem?"

"Just the first world part. I know what a problem is."

"I—" Irina sighed. "How do you not know that?"

Kate shrugged. "Home-schooling. By a mum that was away half of the time."

"… Oh." Irina hesitated. Going by her reaction, she understood what that meant. Maybe it was the 'away half of the time' that made her hesitate and nod understanding. Plus, the Unrest had disturbed many lives. At least Irina, unlike a certain sister of his, knew how to admit fault.

"But yeah, that's the tea on that. Better even—there's a debate on whenever Edward or Jacob is a better choice, and I _need_ to see it, so let's hurry!"

That that would translate into 'participate' and 'absolute chaos', Xander did not know yet.

"How did you even discover these books?"

Kate shrugged. "My mum reads them. If you're locked up in the basement, then you end up reading pretty much everything available to you." She paused. "And when I got through them which was _pretty_ fast, I ended up on the internet looking for more. That's how I got to fanfictions—and Kiera Cass. Gosh, I swear, I will beat her!"

"Beat her in what, if I may ask?"

"Anything!" Kate declared. "I mean, I guess my Twilight-Selection AU won't beat hers—I'd need to write something original, but someday, I will. Look—I know I can. I have to."

"What is Twilight?"

"Book series. Terrible. The guilty pleasure-type. Still a better love story than Fifty Shades."

"Fifty Shades?" Xander repeated, as naïve as he was.

"Nothing to be discussed on a camera."

"Alright…?" Did he need to worry? Hopefully not? He'd need to check with Louis later. Surely, Louis had an idea of what it was. "So, you enjoy writing," he concluded. That seemed like the only conclusion he could make out of this conversation.

"Yes, I do—I mean, it's awesome, isn't it?" Kate babbled. "You get to explore worlds that you couldn't ever go to in real life. You can go anywhere—without leaving your room! It's incredible. All the things you can experience that aren't possible in real life, they are possible in books!" Kate took a deep breath. "You only have one life, but as reader, you can see countless lives—and as writer, you live them all!"

 _It must be nice to have that enthusiasm for something_ , Xander thought.

"Do you read?" Kate hummed. She stopped, in the middle of the crowd that had not yet recognised them, and turned to the Crown Prince. Maybe it was the years of isolation, but Xander could believe that Kate's smile was filled with genuine happiness.

Good to know that she was getting along with everyone.

"I do, when I have time," Xander admitted. Far less than Louis did—he seemed to live in the library nowadays—but when he found the time to sit down, he did.

"What kind of? What's your favourite genre?"

"Historical fiction, probably," Xander replied. He caught up with Kate. "I wouldn't say that I have a preferred time period, but anything past the Renaissance and prior to the twenty-first century, I find myself enjoying most."

"Oooh, fancy!" Kate declared. "I never really got to choose what I'd read."

"How come?"

"It was either mum's Young Adult books, or I had to ask her to download an eBook, and I didn't really want mum to know what I'd read."

"What did you read? Why would you want that to be a secret?" Xander blurted, before he could even ask. He frowned, already wary. Sure, he had seen all kinds of books in the royal library, but they had amassed over centuries by all kinds of inhabitants of the palace. Not by a twenty years old woman.

"Oh, well, given the way my mum is…" Kate hummed. She shrugged, and continued with her ever-airy step forward. "I just didn't want to give her another reason to… I don't know. Ban my internet access, or something."

"Ah."

"I swear! If I could choose, I'd try all kinds of genres. Mystery. Detective. Sci-Fi. Romance. Fantasy. Gosh, I'd love to read some fantasy novels. I only read fanfictions of so many…"

"What about your favourite book. Twilight, was it? What genre is that?"

"Oh, I never actually read the whole thing."

"And…okay?" And yet, she called it her favourite book? Xander frowned, confused. "Pardon my confusion, but how is it still your favourite?"

"Well…" Kate sighed. She looked down on the floor. "I read a really good, realistic fanfiction of it. Then, I convinced my mother to get it for me. She was happy too—it's her taste, you know—but oh my dear. I swear—the main character is unbearable. I guess, there are people who enjoy it, but it's more wish-fulfilment than good literature. It's cool if you like it, but it's not what I read for."

"Wish-fulfilment?" Hadn't Kate just spoken about books allowing her to travel and live lives?

"I mean—look. Novels, historically, came to be as means to criticise society. I had to study _Pride and Prejudice_ for some home-school project. Mum loved it, but there's a much deeper message to it."

"Is there?" Xander vaguely remembered the book to be a fight around a man. Awfully similar to the Selection, he'd say.

"Yes!" Kate nodded. "It's a caricature. Look at other writing from that time. Theatre. Poetry. What not. So many

"Are you sure?"

Kate shrugged. "That's what Wikipedia says."

"And, I assume, Twilight does not do that? There's no message?"

"Yes and no. The only message that it conveys is, first of all, that the guy that sneaks into your bedroom in the middle of the night and watches you sleep is your soulmate." She glanced at Xander. Tiny in comparison to Xander or not, her disdain was clear. To be fair, Xander wouldn't be very found of anyone watching him sleep either. "Then, there's the fact that the _happy ending_ of the whole series is—spoiler warning—just Bella, a teenage mum, married to some three-hundred years old guy with possessive traits, who cuts contact to her loving parents. As a vampire, she can't just go and study, or do anything, without risking that somebody notices that she's immortal. She's giving up all her life for some random dude she met a year ago!"

The irony, when comparing Kate's words to the Selection, was not lost to Xander.

"That sounds a little bit like the Selection."

Kate shrugged. "I mean, given that it's universally established that Gregory Illéa was a—" That word would need to be censored for broadcast. "I'd say, yeah. The Selection as idea sounds like an awful concept from a trashy Young Adult novel."

"… Why exactly did you sign up?"

Kate remained unfettered. "It's a good way to get away from mum!"

"Is that the only reason?" Xander was taken aback. It sounded understandable enough, but given that his life was also on the line, he didn't particularly want such a Selected in it either.

"No," Kate hummed.

"What else, if I may ask?" _Please don't turn into another Leila._

"First of all, in recent generations, it looks like it's worked." Kate's list began, faster than before. "Plus, you get to meet awesome people! You actually get to socialise! You get to meet and talk to people and you get to make points about things you care about and you get to go to these awesome places and—"

Xander chuckled. "I see." How Kate was able to talk so fast was a mystery to him, but at least, she was clearly excited for it.

"I also doubt anyone forced you into this," Kate added on.

If even, he had forced himself into this. Possibly a wrong decision, who knew…

"Forcing someone into this would be a stupid idea. You can always call this all off, if you don't find the One. You can always say 'no, this isn't working', because there isn't some creepy mum lurking in the shadows, telling you what to do—oh. Sorry." Her voice dropped.

"Pardon me?"

"I—I guess… I guess it's not… not really appropriate to rant about my mother like this…?"

"Why?" Sure, they'd need to cut this out—it was too private, in Xander's opinion—but it was merely a conversation either way. The Report was evidently keener on seeing Xander fail in _League of Legends_.

"You mother." Kate stated. Gone was the happy hum. Gone was the airy step. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories or anything I was just in the middle of talking because I actually get to rant about this once because you know Rosy, I don't want to scare her off, or anyone else for that matter and I didn't actually mean to bring this up or anything but then you started the topic on _Twilight_ and that's round about the only thing that mum and I both like because any other time she just tells me to listen to her because mother knows best and some nonsense and—"

"Kate!" Xander called out, a tad too loud for his taste. Fortunately, the crowd was louder—and occupied with the convention. "It's alright. Everyone has different families."

 _Look Kate, he wanted to say, if I could—without repercussions—talk about my frustrations, I would too. Everyone may have a reason to be the way they are, but we still have feelings too._

He smiled. "It's alright."

"I'm… sorry." Kate repeated. She dodged his glance. "Look, we arrived." Much less enthusiastic.

 _Yikes. So much talent at killing the atmosphere, Xander._

"There's a debate on a few novels and which team you're on. It's about which love interest you prefer," Kate explained.

"Then, shall we go there?" Xander suggested, with a smile he otherwise only used for Vic. Friendly, kind, peaceful, trying to scream 'not trying to hurt you or anything'. Kate looked too much like her.

To his relief, the Selected from Belcourt nodded and pointed to a podium, where two younger women were avidly talking about "Peeta and Gale", going by the screen in the background. Given his utter lack of knowledge on the subject, he chose to stay behind Kate.

"And that was our _Hunger Games_ debate!" the debate's host announced. "Next up, we have the legendary _Twilight_! Are there any volunteers?"

"You should go, and tell them," Xander joked.

Unfortunately, Kate turned to him, frowned, then smiled and turned back around. She jumped up, waving her hand to the host, currently looking for someone to represent 'Team Jacob'. Xander sighed. By no means, the host would choose Kate—there were enough people in the room—but he'd need to re-think whenever he could bring everyone to dates in public if he wanted to stay low and—

"And the young lady here that's eagerly waving. Come up, please!"

And gone was Kate.

"Is it a good idea for her to do that?" Irina asked. "I mean, people are going to recognise her and there isn't exactly enough security to safely deal with that."

Andreia nodded to a nearby exit. "That exit is close to the parking lot. While we could get out quickly, I agree."

"So do I," Xander added on. "There isn't much we can do now, can we?"

"You could have not encouraged her," Irina jibbed.

"I'm aware. I didn't mean it seriously."

"I doubt Kate realised."

Kate, having squeezed through the crowd with her unicorn balloon, reached the stage, climbed up and took one side of the podium. Maybe people thinking that Asians looked the same could help them, Xander thought. That hope was faint.

"Why don't you introduce yourself and—"

"Hi everyone!" Kate interrupted. "I would like to make the first point, if you don't mind."

"Go ahead…?"

"This is a debate discussing whenever Jacob or Edward are the better choice for Bella. I would like to propose a slight different view on the situation. Edward, at multiple points in the story, proves to be possessive and dependant on Bella. He sneaks into her bedroom. He's attracted to her because he wanted to bite— _kill_ —her. He is over hundreds of years older than Bella, a teenager. By keeping around her, even if he has the self-control to stay, keeps her around other vampires, including Jasper who only recently started as 'vegetarian'. He is clingy, but then, he puts her in danger, not by himself but others. He hates that Bella has friends and made himself the centre of her world. He breaks up by taking _her into the woods_ and dumping her there! He _scares_ Bella, but also wants to flirt with her! Does that sound like a healthy relationship to you? I can promise you, I wouldn't think so."

The crowd started whispering.

"But to be fair, he's a vampire. It's not his fault that he's that way, and everyone is—" the other debater began.

"I'm not done yet," Kate interrupted. "Then we have Jacob. He imprints on a _new-born_. I'm sorry, but that's creepy. Period. And they even end up in love, even worse. Then he jokes about calling Edward dad—when Renesmee is only a few months old. Sure, this is about a fictional situation between a human-vampire hybrid—the daughter of his, essentially, ex-girlfriend by the way—but still. Is this what we want young people to read and think to be a happy ending? What about him rejecting rejection? Crashing Bella's prom? Throwing a tantrum at Bella's wedding? The fact that he's just as prone to outbursts as Edward? Him kissing her without consent? He's just as possessive as Edward."

"What side are you on?" The host asked. The whispering continued. They had realised.

One of the palace security guards, in civilian clothes, approached the three others and quietly asked, "This is not going to end without the public recognising you. For your safety, we will need to leave."

Thankful, Xander nodded. Irina, a trained soldier, and Andreia, a dutiful police officer, were one thing—Kate who had come for the Selection for freedom, was another. Xander followed the guards to the exit, as quiet and unnoticeable as he could, while another approached the stage.

"It is Lady Katheryn of Belcourt!" someone called out. Xander flinched.

Kate did not. Instead, the waved into the vague direction of the shout. "Yeah, that's me! Hi!" and went on. "Are any of these two someone you would want to date in real life? If you had children, would you want them to date such characters? The current Young Adult scene is full of them and—huh?"

The last thing Xander caught of her for the moment was a guard _politely_ informing her that she had to leave.

/ / /

 **In the car, somewhere in Los Angeles, Angeles  
Kate Blanchard**

Kate, against all standards of etiquette, pulled up her legs. Irina and Andreia were chatting. Xander was listening in. She was, as far as they hopefully were concerned, merely looking through the window.

The high—the energy, happiness and smiles from earlier?—was gone. Gone was the ecstasy of the moment. She glared through the window, towards the sky of Angeles. The sun wasn't even starting to set.

 _Great, Kate_ , she thought and clenched her fist. _You messed up the day._

Neither Andreia nor Irina had said anything—yet. It was inevitably going to happen. They may were chatting now, but they were inevitably going to be angry. Too bad that the car was driving—Kate wanted to disappear in the ground.

And, Kate realised, there was the conversation that she and Xander had earlier. Of course, she had to compare the Selection with Twilight or some other crappy Young Adult novel. Surely, Xander had misunderstood her.

 _I never intended to talk down on the Selection! I think it's a good idea!_

Saying that now would, at best, look awkward though. Maybe Xander had forgotten it already, in the rush of getting out of the convention centre and reassembling. If she said that now, then she'd remind him—she couldn't do that. Couldn't risk going back.

Kate began fiddling with a strand of hair. If she reminded Xander now, then there'd be a larger chance that he'd remember—think about it—and that'd mean that she'd be eliminated. Sure—she had heard that the girls eliminated after the ball were doing well enough, but what meant that?

Right now, she had "I literally have to be in the palace by law" as an excuse to stay away from home. If she was eliminated, she did not.

Lilian Blanchard did not care that Kate was above eighteen.

 _And gosh_ , Kate though, _you literally crashed the whole date_. He had that against her too. Seriously, what did she think!? Just going up on that stage, because she had to tell everyone that this was a stupid idea that would end in broken hearts, hurt people and all—she could have tweeted it. She could have made a blog post.

Go out in the public? Where people would recognise her?

 _Kate, you're stupid_ , she told herself.

"Kate? Are you alright?" Xander asked, out of the nowhere.

Kate's head jerked up. "I—I'm sorry," she muttered. "I really didn't mean to—it was just in that moment I didn't think about consequences and what else would happen because I just had that rush of I don't even know what it is and—I messed up and now you didn't get to enjoy the day."

Andreia laughed. "It's alright. I got to see _League of Legends_. Irina got to see _The Lord of the Rings_. We're fine."

"I agree. It's unfortunate that you didn't get to see the whole talk," Xander begun—awfully relieved for the situation, but hey, they somewhat avoided the mess Kate had made and that was probably why the Crown Prince was happy. "I think we are fine, though."

"I—" Kate stopped. "Still, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—It was just in the moment I didn't think and there was just—I didn't think and _I didn't even consider thinking_ and—I'm sorry."

Even though Andreia and Xander insisted again, Kate didn't smile again. She had messed up the day—and potential new friends. Irina looked grumpy enough. Surely, Andreia and Xander's faces were merely masks.

Just like mum's masks.

"If even, I'm glad to be away from the crowds."

"How come?" Andreia asked.

"I hate them."

"Crowds?"

Xander nodded. "I don't do well with them—not on long term."

"What about balls?" Irina teased.

"It's the same. I don't particularly enjoy it."

"Then, I'm sure it'll be alright for me to speak for all of us," Andreia spoke, "we are glad that you took it on yourself to come today. I had fun." She laughed. Irina and Xander joined. Kate, at least, mustered a half-hearted smile.

She messed up. _Again_. It was damning inevitable.

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **The next chapter will be a bit different; to get a notification, follow me as user, because it's a side-story like thing. You don't need to read it to get the story, but it's comparably short and pretty sweet. It's called** _**Gutter of Stars**_ **, will update in irregular terms, depending on the story, and replace the next Fallout update, on 17.01. The story will resume as normal on 14.02. You can find a little teaser for it on Pinterest.**

 **Also, check out the Fallout Pinterest board for some sweet New Zealand aesthetic. Can't write a story without including the prettiest place in the world. I had to make up some stuff because Kiera Cass' worldbuilding makes zero sense, so now it's "magnetic field change, climate change and possibly some solar flares and asteroids reduced humanity to middle ages or something". The plot will also (hopefully) pick up in pace a little now.**

 **A big big thanks to Frenchie is French for helping me with League of Legends; I have zero idea of that game and she was so kind to help me with writing it. Slash, I copy & pasted her explanation at some point. Love you!**

 **Irina is probably the OC where I took most artistic freedoms, and uh, the influx of 'Irina likes NZ' may or may not be coming from my own love for the country. It's beautiful, by the way. 1000000/10 would recommend.**


	35. Chapter 34

**Fallout**

 _In the previous chapter, Ernest, Nereida, and a few other girls went out clubbing. While they learn an interesting piece on Blair's past in terms of castes—an illogical change—Nereida and Ernest also share a moment alone outside. Ernest remembers that the predominant reason they are keeping their relationship secret is his grandfather, but he is confident he can overcome that._

 _Prior to his next date, Xander buries himself in work—to avoid the fact that Irina is part of that date. Nonetheless, she follows the tradition and comes to see him, and brings up the topic of his workload and Adrian's lack of engagement in the government. She reminds him that he has, essentially, no free time, but Xander avoids it, until promising to speak to Adrian again, this time using foreign negotiations as point._

 _The day's date includes Irina, Kate and Andreia, all heading to the FandomCon, a convention focusing on pre-Illéan fandoms. Xander soon finds himself spending a bit of time with each girl on her own; with Andreia, he discusses the truth about the Air Force hack and why he shared that with her, as well as tries (and fails) to play League of Legends. With Irina, he speaks about LotR and New Zealand, and they come to the topic of where he wants to travel, and Xander's relatives. When the topic moves to Xander's fixation around avoiding love and finding the right Queen, the conversation goes awkward. Things are left avoided and unsaid. With Kate, he learns about her love for books and disdain for Young Adult love triangles. The date ends when Kate promptly joins a streamed debate and is recognised. In the car, she doesn't take her own actions very well._

 **Chapter 34**

» _Who's Truffle?_ «

 **Adrian's Study in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
King Adrian of Illéa**

This wasn't going to be a long conversation, Adrian had decided.

When the footman came with his son's request to speak, he knew what would be coming. There had been a meeting on military matters, and knowing his father-in-law, Jonathan had pushed Xander to, once again, bring up Adrian's position in the government.

 _But he didn't understand. No one did._

"Xander, come in," he spoke, as formal and regal as he could, when his son stepped into the door frame. Adrian stood—with the purpose of reminding his son who (technically) held the power in Illéa. _What an irony,_ he thought _._

"Shall we sit?" Xander suggested after greeting his father.

Adrian hesitated. Xander wanted to get comfortable. Personal. Was he going to guilt-trip him? Because if—that wouldn't work. Sophia had tried. Jonathan had. Even Helena had, though her attempts always had been futile. He knew better than to let that work, at least. After all that happened—

"Alright. What is it, son?"

"I would like to ask you for your advice."

"Regarding the Selection?" Adrian brought up, because by no means did he wish to discuss the country. Illéa was rebuilding well enough. There were no major debates that Adrian—who had, admittedly, avoided any news sources—had heard of, too. He reasoned his peace of mind with that.

"No. Regarding foreign relations. How much do you know about the British-New Asian tensions?"

Little. They had been there when Adrian had ruled, but he had a country torn apart by war and hatred to deal with. "Has much changed?" he asked.

"New Asia has returned to expanding into the southern sea. Britain sees that as a possible threat to Australia and New Zealand, their major allies—and still claims that Singapore and Hong Kong should join them."

A ridiculous debate that had only come to be under the rule of the disinterested British king—his House of Lords wanted more influence on New Asia for trade and economy. Their king didn't know how, or wanted, to control their House of Lords, leaving them free reign. Including their insistence that removing New Asian imports (never a good idea) and exporting goods (what were they planning, opium?) there. Adrian knew so much. He was glad that Illéa operated on a sterner, the throne-rules-all basis. No one could tell him what to do—not officially or by protocol. That didn't mean everyone didn't tell him to get back to work.

 _But they don't understand._

Yet, he was a father. He had to be there for his son, as long as he could. "What is your concern?"

"I met with the New Asian president a month ago. I promised we would stay neutral; given the rebuilding and restoration, I expected Britain to accept that. However, they have been pushing in Europe and to be honest, I think they will expect us to join their side eventually. Our peace with New Asia is fragile at best, too—"

"If major European forces pledge support to Britain, war will happen." Adrian agreed. "Russia, Arabia, and Middle Eastern powers will want a say too."

"We must remain neutral, for Illéa's sake. We cannot stomach another war; the Navy has had budget cuts for years to support the army during the Unrest, and the Air Force is still in pieces. We cannot fight another war, on our or foreign soil"

"Do you expect Britain to put pressure on us?" They certainly could, risking the trade of his nation.

"They do have treaties—and influence in Europe. Unless _all_ of Europe says no to them, I doubt it. We don't have a history of peace as other nations do to claim." Illéa and some of its predecessors had the opposite, to be exact. "Britain won't let us claim 'we need to rebuild' forever."

Even if it hadn't even been a year.

"What is Italy doing?"

"I'm not sure. I planned to speak with Uncle Carlos when he comes here."

"Amelie is coming… Right, I remember." He clenched his fist. Adrian dreaded to see his sister again. He loved her with all his heart, but by all means, she would _lecture_ him.

"I was thinking—what if we facilitate a summit? With New Asia and Britain?"

"The Commonwealth is too involved to just include Britain. If you include the Commonwealth, New Asia will want to include their closest allies," Adrian reminded him.

"New Asia absorbed most of their closest allies since Illéa was formed."

Ah, superpowers playing chess. Or salami tactics, whatever you wanted to call it. How much he loved it. Not. Adrian used to like foreign politics, once. When all the wars happened regarding oil and what not, and Illéa could do their happy fracking at home, and the only issue was the growing unrest (and the good old economic difficulties, he had to add) in Illéa.

"I'm aware."

"Who would they want to come, then? They don't have many allies. Russia, maybe, but they have their own tensions."

"I expect that New Asia would want to invite Arabia. Possibly Middle Eastern countries too, or Russia. Not for support, but because their own ambitions would make work much more difficult for Britain."

"So, you are suggesting a summit of various powers. What about European ones?"

"Tricky. Most European countries have an alliance, one way or another, with Britain, but rely on New Asia for trade, so they'll want to remain neutral." Adrian paused. "Don't pose it as a summit regarding the tension. Make it an international one. Discuss trade, environment protection, science. Human rights and whatnot. There's always something that needs to be discussed. bring up the tensions somewhere, but don't make it look the way."

"Do you suggest to put on something akin to the United Nations?" Xander knew his history; he knew of that organization that had fallen during World War Three. Inevitable. There had been more, afterwards. He had lost track. There was just a pretty bunch of exclusive flats (of which more than one was owned by the royal family; Sophia had stayed there) in New York that survived many years of war and time, that used to belong to that. Plus, someone rumoured there was a bordell in there, but Sophia digressed.

"Not entirely, but similar. More like a G20 with possibly a few more countries. We'd need to see."

"We? Will you involve yourself?"

Foreign politics were so much easier. They didn't involve the people hating his beloved. They didn't involve them spreading lies. They merely involved Lysandre loving the idea of seeing the world with him.

Yet, if he returned to foreign politics, he would be expected to return to the throne and that meant to—that damned image came back— _ **pain**_. Pain spread from his chest as if a dagger had hit him there. It wasn't the pain of a wound, or of falling down, or a burn. It was different. Much different. He knew it wasn't real but it was there and—

"Father?"

Xander knew what was happening when the King leaned forward. Xander knew what was happening when air stopped coming into his father's lungs. Xander knew how bad that pain could be.

God knew how long it stayed. It felt like years. It wasn't even a mere minute.

It ended. Eventually, it always did. But the images that were burned into his mind—they didn't go. He didn't think of them, but he knew they were there—always lurking, always ready to come out and _remind him_. Remind him of the _pain_. Remind him of the body of his dead wife.

"I'll figure things out," Xander said, not needing an answer. He knew—understood to some degree—that as long as that _pain_ was here, Adrian wouldn't return. He couldn't. "Please excuse me."

It's not real pain.

It's fear, maybe.

Not panic, just fear—and guilt.

Guilt for being here and remembering it. For not being able to go into that image and change it. Hatred for letting these things happen, and fear that it would come again.

/ / /

 **Victoria's sitting room in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Prince Ernest of Illéa**

Ernest decided he would get things moving. There was no need to wait for anything, really. (Except the impending threat of Jonathan destroying the one thing he thought about every single day simply because he had, as younger version of himself, made mistakes involving a Russian princess among other things which everyone had forgotten by now). There was only a family to convince that Nereida was the beautiful, perfect person that she was. His stars.

His left hand idly in hers, he stepped into his youngest sister's sitting room. He had previously informed her, of course, that he would come by with a visitor. Victoria had gotten better, going by Xander, but that didn't mean that Ernest had seen much of her.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Tori, wary as always, said.

Ernest didn't know where exactly Tori came from—only that she had helped Xander and Victoria and was to be trusted, apparently. Usually, Ernest tended to be polite to the advisors to the Crown. Tori—well, she was another thing.

She had that certain something about her. The type he would—in the past, of course—flirt with. Also the fact that she hovered over Tori like no one else.

"It'll be fine," Ernest replied.

"I doubt that."

He sighed. "I did not ask for your opinion." Tori was weird enough, in the way that she acted around authority. She came from Xander's friends among the military, but Jonathan didn't like her. Jonathan not liking her was probably the best part of this all. The worst was that he tended to agreeing with him.

"Well, I'm—" Tori's comeback was interrupted by the arrival of the princess in question. Tori looked to Victoria, who had come through the door. "Hi, Vic," she said. At least she knew not to be aggressive to her.

"You've come," Victoria stated. She wasn't surprised—fortunately—but that was given; Ernest had asked her. Victoria Illéa, the little sister that used to push him into pools and oceans for the fun of it, looked like a ghost.

He nodded. "How's your day been?" he asked after Nereida waved hello to his sister too.

"Vic, are you sure that you—"

"Good," Victoria replied, overlooking Tori. "I went to the meeting with the task force focusing on Sumner's rebuilding today. With Xanxan, I mean."

"That sounds fun," Ernest replied, as cheerful as he could. Not that he genuinely cared (thank god his 'work' was limited to 'less important tasks' and Jonathan trying to keep him away of seeing the love of his life by giving him boring military work he had no ideas of), but if it made Vic happy, then it was worth it.

"What's a task force?" Nereida asked, curious.

"It's a group of government officials tasked with dealing with a certain project," Victoria replied, to Tori's and his own surprise. She sat down, and Ernest followed the motion. Victoria's voice was calm, too calm for her. Of course, she had (first) refused to see Ernest and 'another special someone', leading to him having to break his secret to her. She agreed, then. To his honest surprise.

"What are you working on?"

"I'm not part of it," Victoria shook her head. "Xanxan doesn't want me to."

Ernest frowned. "Why not?" Was this part of the 'keep Vic safe' part? She was fine—Xander had said that himself.

"I don't know." Victoria shrugged. "The task force met with some others, Xanxan, and a few advisors. We were talking about the construction of the new cities, timeframes, finances, and logistics."

"Fun," Ernest remarked. Nereida, though, was listening to each word. He doubted she'd actually be interested in it if he heard how boring these things actually were, but if it made her happy…

"What about you?"

"I don't have lessons this morning."

"Lessons? On what?"

"Today's lessons are on ballroom dance," Nereida explained, "but I can do that and the instructors want to focus on the girls that still have trouble with the basics, so I was excused." She smiled to herself. "Props of being a dancer."

Ernest chuckled. "I'm meant to write outlines for the Report, but… I could also spend time with this lovely lady here."

"Me!" Vic laughed out. It was good to hear her laughing.

"I actually meant Nereida," he smiled at her, "but you're good, too."

Victoria grimaced. "He's not the right choice," she told Nereida. "Believe me. I've known Ernie for a while."

Getting out, Ernest assumed, had made a difference to Victoria. She wasn't always wary of him and didn't question anymore if he was actually her brother. His glance fell on Tori, still watching them like a hawk. Given Tori's position, he expected her to come into these meetings too—why was she so wary of Victoria meeting people?

"I think I can deal with him." Nereida leaned onto him. "I've done that often enough."

"Yes," Ernest chuckled, "please deal with me. Vic is just going to try and drown me."

"Drown you?" Nereida asked confused. "You're an okay swimmer, though—except for that one time when we were out on that ship…"

"Please don't remind me," Ernest laughed out. "It wasn't my fault that we got that far off the beach!"

"Who did I task with steering the board?" Nereida repeated.

"Me, but—Okay, maybe."

"Ha!" Nereida laughed. "It was fun, though. And we got to see the sky."

"We did, indeed."

Ernest leaned in to kiss Nereida. He, and Nereida too, ignored his sister who was turning white as they spoke. Ernest only noticed when Tori moved next to the young princess and placed a hand on her skirt.

"Vic? Can you hear me?"

He looked at his sister. "Hm?"

"I—yes. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You don't need to do this, Vicky, you can—"

"Tori," the princess insisted—less forceful than Ernest knew her, though, "please. We want to—"

"I don't want to see you like this, though."

"Yes, but—"

"I think it'd be better if you left it up here for today and—"

"Miss Belasko," Ernest began, "did you not hear Vic? She's fine."

Tori turned to him with a frown. "I'm not entirely sure that you understand her state of mind, _Your Highness_ ," she hissed.

"But if she says—" Nereida spoke, again interrupted.

"Victoria does not know what's best for her," Tori insisted. "I'm sure that Xander agrees with me when I say that she should take a break. Relax. I'm sure this can happen another day when she's doing better."

Ernest clenched his fist. He needed Vic on his side; whatever had happened wouldn't put Nereida in such a good light once he told his family.

"Vic, what do _you_ think?" he asked, hoping to find her on his side.

"I—"

"I'm fairly sure," Tori replied in her stead, "that the whole talk about the damages of the Unrest wasn't good for her. I'll speak to Xander; I'm sure we can find Victoria a less endangering task."

"Endangering?" Nereida repeated. "How is an office meeting dangerous?"

"Trauma, Lady Nereida," Tori muttered. "Come, Vic. Let's go."

Even though Victoria, at first, opened her mouth to protest, Tori's expression silenced her—or so, Ernest thought. She rose, muttered something that vaguely sounded like court speech for 'Leave, now' and left them to head to her private quarters.

Nereida turned to Ernest. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked, jumping to a conclusion immediately.

"I don't think so," Ernest replied, bitter. "If even, we said something that triggered some bad memory."

"Oh…" Nereida looked down. "I'm sorry, I—"

"But honestly, she _and dad_ need to learn how to deal with that. She can't spend her life hiding in her bedroom, can she?" he insisted. "She even wanted to stay, I'd say."

"But didn't Miss Belasko say—"

"I don't even know why she's here," Ernest hissed. "She's one of Xander's friends. Someone who helped him save Vic, yes, but how does that enable her to watch after Vic? Does she have a psychology degree?"

"Maybe…?"

"Given her age, I'd doubt it."

"Will you talk to your brother?" Nereida suggested. "I'm sure he—"

"You heard her. Xander is on her side. He thinks it's good to leave her like this, but I don't think that'll work on the long term. Look at her! She's not being all 'is this Ernie?!' anymore."

"Ernie?" Nereida chuckled.

"She's got a thing for nicknames. She's changed. Getting out to the meetings helped her."

"So…?"

"If Tori is keeping her locked inside, then she won't get better. She needs real help, I think…" Ernest sighed. "I'd like to, but I bet the moment I make a move, Jonathan is going to jump in and tell me to lay off. I need to figure him out first, either way because we are still here and—"

Nereida looked down. "Ernest?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Would it be bad to ask to first focus on us, then deal with your sister?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're worrying about Victoria. That makes sense," she mumbled, "but couldn't you first make sure that Jonathan isn't standing in _our_ way? I'm—what if he hears about us before you've finished your plans?"

"Then—" Ernest stopped. Then chances were that Xander would eliminate Nereida and Ernest would be banished to some new rural province. "You're right. Vic can wait. I'm sure Sophy is already on this. She's better at comforting people either way…"

Nereida smiled. "Shall we go and drink our tea then? Oooh, we could get bubble tea!"

"I would love that," Ernest smiled. That didn't mean that he didn't exchange messages with his sister.

/ / /

 _Ernie, Tori is being all worried but at some point, we definitely need to do a tea time with Truffle. – Vic_

 _Who's Truffle? – Ernest_

 _You-know-who – Vic_

 _Voldemort?! Do you want to start the Cursed Child debate again? – Ernest_

 _Your girlfriend. And Cursed Child is terrible. – Vic_

 _You haven't seen the play itself, Vic. But I agree with the rest. – Ernest_

/ / /

 **In a subtle, empty pub in Los Angeles, Angeles  
Officer Evan Cavanah**

Evan was pretty sure that the only reason Xander was able to come today was Irina pressuring him into it. Part of him wasn't fond of that idea—the whole 'Irina is in the Selection' still felt off to him—but part of him was glad enough that he saw his best friend outside work for once. That being said, the number of jokes in regards to Irina winning the Selection Evan had heard were ridiculous! Ridiculous because they didn't have the insider knowledge of a royal guard. In the end, though, he didn't mind Xander being around, even if Irina was there too. They were friends, after all, and while the whole world knew what was going on in his life, he was pretty interested in the insider information himself.

Curiously enough—and good for his latest bet—Irina had come along too. As of now, she was sitting with Evan, Xander, and their closest friends, idly chatting about the girls. _Of course_ , everyone was interested. This was the Selection, they claimed.

They totally didn't plan to tease Xander to death or anything.

Given that some of their friends were also members of the royal guards, at least one of them had been with them to the convention and was well aware of what had transpired during the last date, including Katheryn Blanchard's infamous impromptu Ted talk.

"Are you going to eliminate her?" someone asked. Evan didn't pretend to not notice Irina's head darting to the Crown Prince. "If she continues like that, she's going to cause heaps of trouble. I wouldn't want a Queen like that…" he pointed out. Again, he didn't pretend not to notice Irina nodding slightly.

"No," Xander replied.

Irina frowned now. "Why not? She just walked on stage and began talking, ignoring any security measures—and nearly pushing us into god-knows-what."

"She had something to say, and she said it."

"About _books_ ," someone mocked. "What even is this _Twilight_?"

"An old Young Adult series," Xander replied aside. "I do agree that Katheryn needs to learn a little more as to how people will react, but given her background, you cannot blame her for it. She doesn't know better."

"But we need a Queen that knows better," Irina muttered. Evan doubted she intended her words to be heard by the prince.

"What about the stuff on the Selection being like a Young Adult book?" the same friend, Oliver, asked again. "When you two were talking—and sorry for listening in, but I'm meant to protect you guys—she seemed to be talking it down."

"It brings in an interesting perspective," Xander said.

"You sound like a politician," Evan huffed.

"I _am_ a politician." Yeah, okay, he had a point.

"He means that you're as vague as humanly possible," Oliver replied. "Interesting perspective? What? We're your friends, Xander—you can tell us!"

"It's… I'm interested in what she means. I don't think I understand it yet—"

"She said that the Selection is a crappy romance novel," Oliver deadpanned. "Given her opinion on that, I doubt she'd like it."

"Didn't you say you don't want people who don't _want_ to be in the Selection to be in it?" Evan wondered. He didn't mean it to be offensive, but seeing Xander's expression move—it was. Oh well, Evan sighed. That was his problem—if he was _that_ protective of a stranger. Maybe Xander liked someone after all.

Doubtful, given his irrational fear of that.

That and Irina.

"I do doubt that she dislikes the Selection. She seems far too engaged into it for that."

"Your mother also seemed to like your father and—"

"Oliver," Xander hissed, "the rumors that my mother did not love my father were always pointless."

"The Queen Mother seems to think otherwise," Oliver pointed out.

"It's common knowledge that grandmother disliked my mother. There's no arguing in that." Xander frowned. "Oliver, you should know better than that."

Oliver shrugged. "Just trying to be helpful."

"You are not being helpful," the prince insisted.

"Your parents aside," Irina moved on—Evan was pretty sure that Xander was physically relaxed—and sat up. "There's no logic here, though. You say that because you _feel_ like she wants to stay?"

"What do you think?" Oliver asked her. "You probably spend more time with the girls than Xander."

"I have a country to run," he huffed.

Even though Oliver was about to speak up again, Irina shut up. "Katheryn is pretty free-spirited. I have yet to hear her discussing the Selection in particular." Then again, from what Evan had noticed, the girls weren't all giggling and talking about Xander all the time either. Irina probably expected that, but fortunately, they did not. They had their own lives. "I can't pinpoint anything specific."

"There we go," Xander nodded. "I'm not going to eliminate her based on something _you_ , Oliver, think she thinks."

"You could ask her," Irina suggested. "Just to clarify—it won't hurt and would ease your consciousness. She could only be here to catch ideas for something she writes, after all."

 _And chances are_ , Evan thought, _you want her to exactly admit that._

The conversation—thankfully—moved on from the Selection. Xander was more than adamant about keeping it away from that, and eventually, the group of friends broke apart a bit. Good for Evan—he wanted to speak to his sister.

"So, what's with you and Xander?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Irina frowned. "I'm part of his Selection, but we all know that it's not about love."

"Is it now?" Evan rose his eyebrows.

He could practically feel Irina blush. "Besides, I've been on one date with him. Where does this all come from?" Irina demanded.

"You seem quite concerned about Xander being interested in Katheryn."

"Of course, I am!" she insisted. "Only a Took would want someone like her on the throne. She'd probably start a war _by accident_."

"And absolutely no feelings are involved," Evan stated, as sarcastic as he could.

"Of course not. I'm no—"

"Dude," Evan huffed, "the other girls may not notice, but the staff does. When's the last time you hung out with Andreia and your friends among the Selected outside classes and food? Ocassional revising?"

"Why that, now?"

"Because, while I don't know what they think, the staff is _very_ aware of your rather frequent visits to Xander's office. The guard's bet pools are _ridiculously_ in your favor."

"I—there are _bet pools?_ " Irina frowned. "That's very unprofessional, Evan."

"Of course, there are bet pools."

"Who's your bet on?"

Evan pursed his lips. "That's a secret. I can't tell you; I'd influence how my bet goes."

"Betting is a—"

"No need to reprimand me for joining the betting pool, Irina. I'm more interested in you and Xander."

"There is no 'me and Xander', Evan. Especially not after yesterday."

Evan frowned. "What happened?"

Thankfully, Evan was her brother and had always been the local therapist to his sister. "We were talking about traveling, and we ended up on the topic of who he'd chose at the end of the Selection, and _I swear_ , there's more to this all than just the 'I'm worried that I'll choose the wrong person; look at what dad did' thing. It's frustrating, you know?" Irina leaned back. "You're trying to be helpful, and he just doesn't come out with it!"

"… Elaborate, please?"

Irina lowered her voice. "He's afraid of falling in love. I assume that is because his dad chose the wrong person to be Queen and because the last time he did, it was with a rebel."

"Tori. Right. I remember."

"That is all I know about, but _I swear_ , there's more to it."

"Why do you think so?" Just hearing that, it sounded real enough.

"If he was so worried about falling in love with the wrong person and choosing the wrong Queen, then why wouldn't he choose a person appropriate for it?" Irina asked. "He'd save time and money by ending the Selection."

Evan paused. Irina was clearly missing something important. A Fool of a Took herself, she was.

"So," he began, hoping to confirm his suspicions, "if he chose, say, Lady Andreia tomorrow, you think it'd be good?"

"I—no."

"Why not? She has a crystal-clear track record, a family dedicated to the country and she's even your friend. I'm sure if you wanted political influence, you'd have it there."

"No," Irina insisted. "I—I wouldn't…" She paused. "Andreia is following the law _too much_. She lacks critical thinking skills when it comes to it."

"What are you basing that on?"

"We were discussing ethics in the law in one class, and Isla brought up someone stealing apples to allow his family to survive. Andreia's verdict was conviction adequate to the crime." Irina explained. "Enough other people suggested that instead of being given prison time or a fine, he should return the apple to the owner and apply for community aid. Isla insisted that it was the government's job to prevent this from happening, but Andreia remained with her verdict."

"I see. What about Leila? I doubt she would have said that."

"Yes, she agreed with Isla's idea."

"So, if he chose her tomorrow, then?"

"She—I—" Irina paused.

"Irina, there's no need to think of a reason why Leila Sinclair isn't an appropriate winner. Admit it."

"Admit what?"

Gosh, his sister could be so stubborn… "You want to win."

"Of course, I do. I want to—"

"Make a difference and whatnot," Evan finished. He rolled his eyes. "And you like Xander. Because otherwise, logic dictates that having a close enough connection with anyone high up in the government would mean you have influence either way."

"I— _not entirely true_ , because—" Irina stuttered.

Evan deadpanned.

"I really don't like—"

"You're jealous of Kate because Xander evidently has a 'not logical' reason to keep her in the Selection. And not logical, for you, equals to emotions. Read—he may like her."

"I…" Irina sighed. "Alright, I may like him as a friend but that doesn't change that he is being ridiculous on—"

"Irina, I'm pretty damn sure that Xander isn't just looking to find a Queen—as much as we throw around the job interview joke. He's seen what his parents had. He wants to find love too."

"I—" She sighed. "I'm sure he'd—"

"Talk to him. I don't want to spell this out for you."

/ / /

 **Orange Sitting Room in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Rowan Johansson**

With their lessons finished for today, Rowan strolled ahead to join Owen and Annie. After all, how could she stay without her two siblings for more than a few mere hours? She smiled upon finding Annie dressed in a fluffy dress, and Owen in the corner reading. Their childminder stepped aside, Isla followed in.

"Rowan!" Annie Johansson called out. "We went and looked at paintings today!"

"Oh, did you?" Rowan, kneeling down, asked. "Were they pretty?"

"Not as pretty as my own!"

Isla's niece giggled. "I think the one of the Queen was the prettiest! She looked like a fairy!"

"Maybe she is one?" Annie wondered out loud.

Isla frowned. "I would doubt that…" she muttered under her breath.

"Why's that?" Rowan's Annie asked. "She looks so pretty! Have you seen the dresses? Oh, can we go and see the dresses?"

Isla sighed to herself and joined Rowan on the floor. She hesitated for a moment, taking in her niece's hug. "Because, you know, fairies would make sure that everyone is happy and safe, and sometimes, I'm not sure if that's so true."

The door behind Rowan opened and closed. This time, Owen looked up and waved at Leda who had come to join them. He had grown so fond of Leda explaining to him simple maths; Rowan couldn't help but smile.

"Miss Leda!" he called out. "I finished your problems."

"Oh, that's great!" Leda called out. "Will you show them to me?"

"A moment, please." Owen fiddled with his papers.

Rowan herself frowned. It wasn't a good idea to speak against the Queen like that, she believed. Of course, the Crown itself, in Rowan's mind too, was imperfect, but she wanted to stay, allow Annie and Owen a better future. "Why would you think that?" she thus asked, skeptic. Leda, surely, would hear that.

"It's Sumner. It's not getting better. The cities are left abandoned, crime is spreading. I've spoken to Xander—I thought I had convinced him, but it appears they are left alone. It's frustrating."

"You could," Leda suggested, "donate what you earn through the Selection to Sumner."

Isla frowned. "I need the money myself."

"You seem quite well here. Annie is with you. Is there anything else you need?"

"Excuse me?" Isla blurted out. "Do you have any idea how my life looks like? I need the money to survive myself."

"So, in the end, do you not care for the people of Sumner, who need the money more than them? You're doing fine right now. You are a Three now. You can go, get yourself a scholarship for merely being a Selected and leave that life behind."

Rowan glanced to Leda— _why?_ Why challenge her like that? "Leda, I think—"

"Of course, I do care!" Isla called out. "But I need to make sure that Annie and I will be fine, even beyond the Selection. Do _you_ even care?"

"Have I ever claimed to care?" Leda dared.

"What—?!" Isla hesitated. "I think…" she broke off. Glanced to Annie, the concerned Rowan, and her siblings. She shook her head, rose, with her niece's hand in hers. "I think it'll be better if we leave," she replied. _Such a cold face_ , Rowan thought.

"… Where did that come from?" she asked, once Isla was gone, and Annie looked at her, in confusion.

"I'm concerned what associating with Isla will lead to." Leda replied and took a seat. She skimmed Owen's work. Lead to what? "She, quite openly, opposes a government decision in regards to Sumner. In times like these, the government needs to appear unified. They have enough problems on their own on that front; they don't need a Selected opposing them as well."

"… You're concerned we'll be eliminated with her."

"Exactly," Leda smiled. "Besides, Isla may have good intentions, but look at her. She's a Seven and has shown no interest in court procedures past the lessons."

"I'm a Seven," Rowan pointed out, hurt. She hadn't expected that from _Leda_ , out of all people. Leda, who almost knew about everything back home. Who listened to the times the economy at home collapsed into pieces.

"Yes, but you do learn. You may be slower than others, but you do learn."

"What do you mean with no interest in court procedures?" she asked, still wary.

"She learns protocol, listens and works in class, but she only does that much. She doesn't do research on her own—the most she does is hang out with Zarah and Ami, and we both know neither is fit for the throne."

Rowan nodded. True. They all waited for Zarah's elimination. Ami, a Two, was more questionable, but if what Leda said was true, then her association was it all. "What are you implying?"

"She has no real shot, if she doesn't understand that for politics, you need to have more than merely good ideas."

"What do we have?" Rowan asked. Leda smiled. There was more, but Rowan didn't understand that yet.

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **I like my politics. Adrian's/Xander's/anyone's opinions aren't neccessarily my own, but rather meant to be explorative of what the characters, given their background, would think. I also got to elaborate a bit on Adrian's wellbeing. I'm definitely not happy with how it was written, but I struggle to put exactly what's going on into words, but I hope I managed to convey the feeling. At least Vic's doing better. She made another friend! :D**

 **Let me know what you think! Irina finally admitted that she may like Xander 'as friends', but now he seems interested in Kate…? Let me know what you think! :D**


	36. Chapter 35

**Fallout**

 _In the previous chapter, Xander tried to talk his father into supporting him with international relationships. Although they made some progress, his ultimate goal—to get Adrian back into politics—did not happen._

 _Meanwhile, Ernest set up a meeting with him, Nereida and Victoria in the attempt of introducing Nereida to his family, but when they bring up the wrong topic and Victoria remembers things, Tori pushes them out. Ernest, wary of these intentions, is convinced by Nereida to first tackle their own problems._

 _Prompted by Irina's comments, Xander meets up with his friends, bringing Irina and Evan along. A friend, Oliver, opposes his decision to keep Kate in the Selection after she messed up the convention date. Irina, too, is unhappy with it, but as Evan deduces, that is jealousy. Despite the tensions on unspoken things between her and Xander, Irina finally admits that she likes him._

 **Chapter 34**

»Procrastination was damning him«

 **Palace car park, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

Irina hadn't come today, and if anything, that alone made Xander nervous.

Today's date was the road trip. Isla Woodley, Leda Conner, Minerva "Minnie" Whitefield and Anastasia Collins. Even though Xander had told himself that it'd be alright, now as they were going through the final inventory, nothing seemed fine.

At least Isla was pretty invested into things.

"I think we have all!" Isla declared.

Just as with the others, he had been concerned that they wouldn't take the idea well, but to his surprise, Isla had jumped right onto the idea. Anastasia was happy to come along too, quoting the scenery they'd see, and Minnie was happy to come along too. Leda, fortunately, remained professional.

"Great!" Minnie said.

This date was, going by the Royal Guard, the most difficult one to manage. Given the size of the mini van—not the typical limousine—they couldn't put a guard in it. That, he agreed, would be awkward as well, but the older car wasn't as save as the royal limousines and their bulletproof glass. They had decided to send on car ahead and one behind, on a previously agreed and scouted route.

"Are you sure you're happy to drive?" Xander, not the best driver, asked Isla.

She nodded. "Sure. I've got heaps of experience with it."

She had, just half an hour ago, said her goodbye to her niece, and while that had been a little bit tearful for Annie, Xander hoped it'd stop the Report team from using too much footage of inside the car.

For that, Ernest had suggested just placing a camera into the car, and they had gone ahead with that—much to Xander's dismay. But what was he going to do? Part of the Selection was the public aspect…

And they went ahead and sat into the car. They had enough stops planned to change seats—Xander chose the front first—and to be completely fair, this wasn't entirely a road trip. It was driving to a small house—once a safe house, although not the Safe House—owned by the Illéas, staying there for the night and leaving.

Some would inevitably going to claim that this group had more time with the prince, but that idea made Xander sigh. He had work he was going to need to do there. It was afternoon too. He was still playing with the idea of leaving around midnight…

"This isn't really a road trip by definition," Isla pointed out as she drove the car out of the carpark.

"It'll be fine," Anastasia hummed. "We could put on some music?"

"Sure," Xander agreed. Anything to keep him off thinking about Irina's lack of appearance. "Any suggestions?"

"What do you guys listen to?" Anastasia asked. He could hear her fiddle around with something; in the mirror, that turned out to be a handbag. "I'm really in the mood for something high energy."

"Classic rock?" Isla suggested, one hand on the steering wheel.

Leda frowned. "Not my taste," she replied. Leda leaned against the window in the back. "Do you have something with a strong instrumental? It's pretty interesting to pick that apart."

Isla cringed. "Did you pick up on Rowan's music lectures?"

"Music lectures?"

"The other day when I was with Annie, she was explaining some 'cadences' to her Annie and Owen. I've got no idea what that is but…" Isla frowned. "It's quite inadequate."

Leda leaned forward. "Excuse me? _Inadequate_? She's just fond of music theory. That's nothing bad."

"If you think so…" Isla looked aside. She shrugged.

 _Yikes_. Xander cringed himself. _Please, conversation, move on…_ He still needed to figure out what was going on with Irina—no need to argue about _music_.

"I'm with Anastasia. I like upbeat dance music," Minnie agreed. "What about you, Your Highness?"

So much about moving on. Xander did not listen to a lot of music; he found it distracting and he didn't have the time to listen to much more. If even, he had heaps of instrumental and orchestral music exposure, thanks to his grandmother, but nothing modern he could say… "I've only ever really listened to instrumental music as well. My grandmother's doing."

"Good to hear someone appreciating the fine arts," Leda smiled.

"That being said, I don't know enough 'high energy' or 'upbeat' music to judge. We could do both, maybe?"

Isla sighed. "Alright…"

"It isn't going to kill you, Woodley," Leda hissed.

"Oh, seriously?" Isla muttered between her teeth. "Whatever. Anastasia, put on some music."

Xander could hear Anastasia sigh disappointed, but nod. "Give me a moment. We could also play car bingo? Do you all know how that works?"

"Yes," Isla said.

"No," Minnie and Leda replied.

"Have you never ever been on the road?" Isla muttered.

"I do tend to read. Inform myself and improve. I don't have time for childish plays," Leda shot back.

Xander frowned. While he didn't appreciate Isla's behaviour, he had a higher opinion on Leda. She had been such a professional—where came that salty behaviour from. He wasn't going to say anything— _please, no drama_ —but it was most certainly noteworthy. "I've played it a few times, but if we go through the rules again, we can make sure everyone is on the same page."

"Where have you played that?" Minnie asked. "I wouldn't expect the royal private jet to be on the highway."

"Military," Xander replied. "A better way of phrasing would be a few rounds during one trip, but I understand the principle."

"I see." Minnie nodded. Right. She had been a soldier too. It was so clear with Rie, and he had spoken about it with Irina once; he had forgotten Minnie.

"It's easy. You write down a randomised number place. If you see a car that has the same letter or number in the same position, you cross it out. If you cross out your whole number plate, you win. We all have windows, so it should be fine?"

"I'm not going to play," Isla stated.

"Is it too childish for you?" Leda mocked.

"No, I need to focus on the traffic."

Leda frowned, and crossed her arms, insulted. Her smile was tight, her breath sharp. "Of course," she pressed out. Her head hit the window.

"That's a fair point," Minnie agreed. "Do you have something to write on, Anastasia?"

While Anastasia handed out a piece of paper, Xander started thinking. He couldn't pinpoint a reason for that sudden tension—he was so glad Minnie and Anastasia overlooked it—but mere differences in priorities. Isla, given her background as mechanic, was probably a much more practical person. She was a Seven, too, while Leda was a Four...

The differences in castes, huh?

He'd need to check on both. If either had a problem with another, that would prove to be a problem. A good Queen could look beyond that. He sighed. _One will be your wife…_ He needed to consider carefully. Even if Leda made him more comfortable with her professional style… That wasn't worth it, he told himself.

Anastasia handed him a paper, and he scribbled down a licence plate—none of particular meaning, he told himself. He actively forgot that it was Tori's. The only car outside military and royal cars he ever had been in his life.

"What does everyone have?" Anastasia asked. "I have 4HRN921."

"2CON369," Leda replied curtly.

"9MJS821," Minnie explained.

"6TRJ244," Xander finished.

"Lovely," Anastasia finished. "Shall we get started?" She looked, sitting on the left, out of the window. "Oh, I already have one. For the one in the last!"

"Me too!" Minnie called out. "There's a two in the second-to-last spot for me too!"

"I've got that too!" Anastasia laughed.

Leda frowned. She didn't seem to look very fond of the idea of losing. Xander chuckled amused. A car passed by, and he announced to strike off his T. Leda followed with her three and six. Another one—now with a nine in the front, meant Minnie was leading, but then Leda found a two in the front and a nine in the end.

"Ooh, H, R and N! I'm almost there! Two to go!" Anastasia announced after a truck passed them. Next to Xander, Isla chuckled. Leda followed the notion with her N. He himself crossed out his two in third-to-last position and his J. Minnie followed soon.

"Oh, lovely, a C," Leda remarked and made another cross. "That means I'm only missing my O."

"Ah, no you're not! I win this round! I got my four and my nine!" Anastasia smiled radiant. "One point for me. Do we want to do another round?"

"Maybe something that Lady Isla can do too?" Xander suggested. "Although, I must admit, I don't know what."

"We could play Scattergories?" Leda suggested. "Although, maybe that's not her taste."

"Nah, it's fine by me. I can't write the categories down, though."

"We could do teams?" Minnie suggested.

"That'd be only two teams, though." Anastasia frowned. "Although, I'm happy to play alone. We need to make sure nobody listens in to the others."

"Listening in Scattergories doesn't give you an advantage," Leda spoke. "If you listen in, you will just know about one word you won't say. Who is listened on gains the same advantage—but you get distracted and they essentially get a save on their word. It doesn't matter."

"True," Minnie nodded. "Just to check—do you guys play with alliteration rules?"

"What do you mean?" Isla asked. "Alliteration as in, Cilla Chamberlain? Both starting with the same letter?"

"Yes. The way I know it, it means double points."

"Ah, I see," Isla nodded. "Sure, why not." She grinned—at Leda. "Do we do two points if you're the only one with the word, one point if someone else has the word and none if everyone has it?"

"Why not one if everyone else has it?" Xander asked.

"It wouldn't matter; everyone stays at the same number either way," Leda replied.

"Oh, yes." Xander nodded. "Then sure. What categories?"

"We are five people. Everyone could do one?" Anastasia suggested. "If so—I'll suggest flowers and plants."

"Historical figures," Xander added on.

"Cities in the world," Leda suggested.

"School supplies," Isla added on.

Minnie finished the list. "And hobbies, maybe?"

Xander noted them down as they were named. "How do we determine the letter?"

"I'll think through the alphabet, and someone stops me," Anastasia replied. "I'll start."

It didn't stop Minnie long to call out "Stop!"

"Ready? It's K!"

Xander nodded. While Leda and Minnie in the back began whispering and Anastasia began scribbling too, he skimmed through the categories. Neither for cities, plants and flowers, historical figure, school supplies or hobbies, he could come up with an immediate answer.

"JFK for the second," Isla whispered.

"Where do you know him from?" Xander asked, surprised. Even though the Cold War was, in his important, a noticeable period in time—fitting all too well to current politics—it wasn't taught as frequent; it wasn't an important part in Illéan history. It was merely mentioned, explaining previous Russian-American tensions.

"I like documentaries," Isla replied. "There are lots on the conspiracies surrounding his death."

"I see." He smiled. Good to know that they shared that interest.

"For the city, maybe Kansas City? It's in Midston—none of them are from there."

"Have you been there?"

"Once or twice," Isla replied, absentminded. "For fruit—kiwi fruit?"

Xander nodded. "Got it. Then, hobbies and school supplies."

"Karting? Like, go-karting?" Isla suggested, still quiet. Better safe than sorry, Xander guessed.

"That would probably be a G," Xander replied. "For school supply, _Kreide_?"

"What?" Isla asked, confused. "What's that?"

"The German word for chalk. Nobody said things have to be English," Xander whispered back.

"I… doubt they'll let that one slide."

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

Isla paused. "No. Karate for hobbies though. We need something better for school supplies. What about—"

"Done!" Minnie announced. "Pens down; we got them all."

Isla sighed frustrated. "We'll go with Kreide, then," she muttered. "What do you guys have for City?"

"Kyouto, in New Asia," Leda begun.

"Knoxville," Anastasia smiled.

"We have Kansas City. That means two points for everyone, right?" Xander finished.

Minnie nodded. "For plants, we have kiwi fruit."

Anastasia sighed. "Same."

"We also have that."

"To be fair, is there much else?"

"… Kale, maybe? Oh, damn it! We should have gone for that!" Minnie cursed. "Who do you have for Historical Figure? We have John Keynes."

"Who's that?" Isla frowned.

"Economist from the twentieth century. He wrote a thesis on unemployment," Leda replied. "Don't worry, you don't need to know him."

"Kennedy here," Xander replied. "Lady Anastasia?"

"Lord Kelvin? The one that the physical unit is named after?"

"Looks like everyone is getting a point again!" Minnie announced enthusiastic. "We have a Kindle for school supply. A bit far-fetched, but we used eReaders."

"I don't have anything," Anastasia admitted.

Xander tilted his head. "We have the German word for chalk. It starts with K."

"That's not fair!" Minnie called out. "Nobody here speaks German!"

"We never explicitly stated it, though," Leda admitted. "I say he gets the points."

Isla rolled her eyes, but remained silent on the matter. "And we have karate for the hobby."

"Kayaking," Anastasia announced.

"And we have kickboxing. This round was surprisingly easy. We should go for something difficult. Something like W, or so," Minnie suggested.

"And more difficult categories," Leda added on.

They do, and it continues to help. The categories start to range—from sportsmen to Abby Moon songs, from Shakespeare quotes to lakes in Illéa, they cover it all. It's good to distract Xander, but it becomes clear to him, Leda and Isla do not like another.

Where did that come from?

Because from time to time, Isla needs the GPS to make sure they're on the right track, Xander can see that the short stop they planned at a highway rest place. There, he'll need to check up on them, maybe Leda first.

By the time they reach it, Anastasia is leading in the point system, followed closely by Leda and Minnie. Isla again and again dips out, and thus is last. There's definitely a competition, but unlike with League of Legends, Xander isn't invested in not-losing. It feels much more 'low stakes'—maybe because less people are watching. There are also no ten-year olds screaming around.

"How long are we stopping for?" Isla asks.

"Ten minutes?" the prince suggests.

They leave the car, one by one, and thankfully, Isla and Minnie immediately head to the bathrooms. Another car pulls in—the second one of the royal guards, in which the only present camera team is too. Xander gives them a nod to talk to Anastasia first.

"Lady Leda?" he asks, once all is set and they are alone.

"Of course, Your Royal Highness? How may I be of service?" Leda asks, in good, old polite court speech that Xander can deal with. Professional, just like his favourite advisors.

"Did something occur between you and Lady Isla? It was hard not to miss the tensions between you two."

Leda hesitates; she thinks for a moment. "Apologies if such was the case. Isla hit a wrong nerve, you could say, and she stereotypes the lower castes a lot."

"Would you mind elaborating, on how she stereotypes the lower castes?"

Leda nodded—another time buffer, Xander realised. "She has good intentions and ideas, but she lacks the abilities to execute them. It shows in her refusal to be interested in the fine arts, for example. She doesn't understand that they are used to convey political ideas, and you could say I'm a little frustrated by it."

How much did happen behind closed doors that he missed?

"I must, however, acknowledge that if it was that obvious, then my behaviour was inappropriate and I will apologise to Lady Isla upon her return."

Xander nodded. "A difference in opinion, I see."

Were the girls not as harmonic as his past dates had seemed to be?

"I suppose, my friendship with Rowan did influence my opinions too. I felt like she was insulting Rowan with that remark on music with strong instrumentals, and I suppose I had to defend my friend."

"Lady Rowan is interested in music?" Xander asked, surprised. From what he had seen, which was little, though, she always seemed to be focused on her siblings. Occasionally horse-riding, going by what Irina had noted, but that, he had assumed, would have come from his work.

Irina… What had happened between them? What wrong words had he said?

Leda smiled—a rare, definitely genuine smile. "She doesn't like people to know, but Annie told me."

"She is very close to her siblings, I noted."

"It's her strength. She's very caring towards them."

"What about you?" Xander wondered. "Do you have siblings?"

Again, Leda hesitated. Xander knew that hesitation all too well. Advisors waiting to think about their sentences twice, journalists formulating questions perfect to the point—Leda was calculating. She wasn't entirely genuine—not like Irina had come to speak to him.

"I do have a brother, but unfortunately, we do not have as much contact as I would like."

"Why is that?" Xander asked. He remembered a brother in her file, but no details. Given Leda's age, it was likely that he had been conscripted—so many relatives of the girls had been—but without Irina present, he hadn't come to properly prepare. Procrastination was damning him.

"He is rather unwell, as of now, and I feel like my presence wouldn't support him."

"Unwell?" Xander asked. "Has he been to the Unrest?"

Leda nodded, glancing aside to the empty Angeles lands beyond the rest stop. She thought, Xander presumed, but given the nostalgy in her face, this time, it was genuine. He could only presume, though, and by all means, it frustrated him. Who knew how good a liar Leda was…

As much as he liked the professional attitude, Irina's genuine bluntness was much more helpful. At least he knew she was speaking the truth—she wasn't playing a game like his sister was.

"Yes, and I'm afraid, he hasn't returned as the same person."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Xander had made enough speeches, mourning the damages of the war, to know these lines. Enough speeches that they almost didn't feel them anymore. Once, he had been angry at the rebels for doing these things. Now, the numbers had come so distant… "I know that feeling," he added, though.

"Princess Victoria?" Leda concluded.

Xander nodded. "I do miss my little sister as she was before."

"Is she improving?" Leda wondered. "We tried to find a therapist to help my brother, but everyone is already so busy, and even we, and I like to think that we are well off, cannot afford those who still have space."

 _Government aide only does so much_ , Xander added.

Xander hid a frown. "We try all we can," he chose to say. Unlike with Leda, there was no such delay. Preparing his words was easy, and even if Leda was a Selected right now, and he expected that to change, he couldn't risk her, once eliminating, talking about Victoria's condition. Xander didn't like being that careful. "She has picked up the habit of joining me in meetings, so yes, she is indeed improving," he added on. Leda could still, as professional as she was, be eliminated any day. She wasn't guranteered to win.

Not when Irina competing.

"That is good to hear," Leda replied. Maybe this one was genuine. "I must admit, I was positively surprised when the news leaked that you had decided to join the military."

"Thank you," Xander said. "I didn't want to stay back and do nothing. I saw all the carnage, but if you only sit in an office and make orders, it doesn't always feel like you are doing _something_." Again, he was being genuine. Maybe that'd help.

What an irony. First, he had wanted the professionalism, tailored and perfected answers and a mere act for the Selection, but now? After having seen Irina demand more than it, and almost going with it?

"I see where that comes from," Leda nodded. "I work in an office, but after having met Rowan and hearing about her life as a Seven… I want to make more of an impact."

"You two are quite close."

"I didn't expect to make a friend like her, but I enjoy every minute of her company," Leda replied—genuine, again. Leda really had to like Rowan a lot, if she was being so genuine about her, but not about anything else… Maybe she just didn't see a reason to hide the friendship? That would make sense too…

Just as Xander was about to comment on that, a dark frown appeared on Leda's face. Xander followed her glance and recognised Isla, Minnie and Anastasia heading towards them. They were finished with their stop here, Xander concluded.

"Lady Isla?" Leda, pressing out the words, called.

Isla's happy face—she must have enjoyed the conversation, Xander concluded, darkened. "Yes, Lady Leda? How may I be of help? Would you like to drive?"

"No, thank you very much. I'm quite confident that you are the better driver," Leda shot back.

 _Girls_ , Xander told himself. He had seen these petty fights often enough between Sophia and her friends. That was all.

"What is it then?"

"I would like to apologise," Leda replied, taking moral high ground, "in case my behaviour offended you. It is clear that we do not agree on certain things, but I believe we can find—" she hesitated. "—some form of common ground."

Isla deadpanned. "Of course."

Anastasia glanced to Minnie, who returned the look. Nobody said a word; Leda, with the posture of a CEO in front of a small employee, and Isla, with her crossed arms, glared at another. Xander looked to the girls, and the camera crew that fortunately knew better than to film this all.

Isla was the first to say a word. Perhaps, it was Leda's experience is business or the things she had learned elsewhere that made her understand that she needed to wait. "I'm sorry too, if I made you uncomfortable."

With that, they declared the matter to be over and the drive to go on. They had another one and a half hour, and Xander grew more and more grateful for Anastasia and Minnie's ability to just look past the tensions.

/ / /

It was, in the end, Minnie who scored most points over the various games they played. When they stopped in front of the smaller holiday house, hidden away behind trees and driveways, the sun had already set and thankfully, staff had prepared dinner by the time they reached the house.

Xander was glad to know that it had the space of all five of them to sleep alone. He needed a break. But being the good prince that he had to be, he joined them for dinner and told them the tales he knew about the house—nothing about himself, merely words regarding the time their mother tried (and failed) to organise a 'no work' weekend. Adrian had been called back to Los Angeles in a matter of hours. Sophia had been unhappy to be cut away from her family, and Vicky had been bullying Ernest for insisting that a particular play was good.

He was careful not to disclose anything important.

When they all chose to sleep for the night, tired of the drive and, at least for Xander, of interacting with people, he hoped to just take one quick breath of cold air outside. He had no means to leave the girls in the early morning or late night now—not when they had gone to bed and that was improper, so he told himself to better take the chance and catch some air.

"You're out late, Your Highness," Anastasia said, when she came out of the door behind him.

Xander, to some degree, wanted to leave her here, but he couldn't do that without implying anything. Until now, he had only spoken to Leda alone, and if he wanted to follow his tradition of taking a moment with each of the twenty-five girls, then he needed to make time for them all.

"I quite enjoy the cold air."

"It's beautiful," Anastasia agreed and stepped besides him. "I wonder if there are any hiking tracks around."

"Do you like to do that?" Xander wondered. How unfortunate that he hadn't planned her into the designated hiking date.

"I do," Anastasia nodded. "There are lovely tracks where I live. It's always good to take time to go for a walk and blow off steam."

"I can understand that," Xander agreed. "It helps to cool down from heavy workloads."

"And it clears thoughts, too!" she chuckled. "Do you like hiking?"

"I wish I had more time for it," he admitted. "Unfortunately, I don't have much time. My work does take most of day."

Anastasia nodded. "It is noticeable."

"Is it, huh…?" Xander frowned. "That's not my intention."

She smiled. "That's quite alright. You are leading our country, after all. It's not your fault. I'm sure you are trying your best, given the situation."

Xander smiled too. "Thank you. I'm glad to hear that, for once."

"Huh?" Anastasia asked, confused. "Why is that?"

"A lot of people aren't quite fond of my workload and insist that my father should return to his work, but…" Now, he hesitated. After all, the Crown Prince couldn't just speak out against his King. "He is exhausted. The Unrest, Victoria and my mother's passing have taken a huge toll on him."

"That is unfortunate, I agree." Anastasia nodded. She glanced to the quiet wildlife in front of them, and the highway in the distance. "I suppose taking a break is the best thing to do."

"That's what I believe too," Xander added. He didn't believe it, but details. "I do see where everyone is coming from, of course. Especially with the comparison to Victoria now coming to meetings but father rarely leaving his room…"

"I think you should be proud of Her Royal Highness. She's making great progress, isn't she?"

"I'm also concerned, though. What if something in the meetings pushes her over the edge, or hurts her?"

Anastasia hesitated. "That is true… Have you considered EMDR? I'm no professional in that subject but it appears to have proven to be quite useful."

"What is that?" Xander asked.

"Eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing. It's a form of therapy used on trauma. It takes time, but among other things, it's used on veterans. Maybe it could prove to be helpful?"

Except that they already tried to get Victoria to speak to a therapist. Multiple ones, at that. None of them had worked, and all of them had ended in the decision that 'maybe the therapist and Vicky just aren't the right match, and that is fine'.

"Your Highness…?"

Xander looked up. "Right. True. I'll see how it goes. She wasn't very lucky until now, but… there's no reason to stop, right?" His pathetic attempt to appear hopeful didn't fool anyone.

She knew better than to react outrightly, though. "There is always hope, even if it appears unlikely. There's always another chance."

Was there a point why they shouldn't continue on? There were, he presumed, enough professionals to try and help his sister in some form or way. Of course, the process of vetting them and organising an appointment, getting Victoria herself and Tori to agree was problematic enough… Xander sighed.

"Have you taken a day off recently?" Anastasia wondered. "A day where you don't think about your sister, your country or anything else that may stress you?"

He shook his head. "I haven't; I just cannot find the time."

"Perhaps after the Italians visit?" Anastasia suggested. She sat down on the cold stone stairs leading up the house. She was still wearing the brown summer dress that now had to be terribly cold, but her hair had been styled up in a messy ponytail. Probably her own work, not a maid—Xander wasn't even sure if they had a maid here. "At least an evening, just for your own wellbeing?"

"That sounds like a lovely idea." Something he did not have time for.

"Maybe some music, too? Meditation is a fascinating thing to do. It helps me a lot, when I need time to calm down."

"I have never tried. Isn't it very difficult? Something about stopping to think and all…"

Anastasia chuckled. "It's only as difficult as you make it for yourself. Try it, now!"

Xander shook his head. "I'm not even sure how." Plus, it would just give him the space to start worrying about all kinds of things he hadn't even started on.

"Close your eyes, stop talking, and just listen to your breath. Breath in, breath out." She pointed to the space next to her on the stairs, gesturing him to sit. Although hesitant, Xander took a seat. "Now just listen to me." He closed his eyes. "Breathe in… Breathe out… Breathe in…"

He doubted it'd help anyhow. He doubted that he could focus on a lot more—not when he was thinking about what Anastasia was thinking of him right now, and if the camera crews were filming this, and if the other girls noticed this and—but Xander did one thing. He followed Anastasia's rhythm.

He breathed in, and out. In and out.

Before he knew it, his thoughts stopped circling. Before he knew it, he was sitting there and quietly breathing. The wind was soughing the leaves, caressed his cheeks and the cold night air only now seemed to truly settle down. The stone beneath them was cold—sunset was too long ago—but that was fine.

"See?" Anastasia eventually spoke up. "It does help to wind down."

Xander nodded. "It did. I didn't expect that. Thank you."

She smiled, and rose. Xander followed the suit. "I was planning to do it either way, so I merely had the pleasure of your company. It's quite late though, and given our early start, you may want to go and sleep now."

He nodded, and headed towards the door. "Oh, and, Lady Anastasia?" he added on. "Thank you for your time. You are a good listener."

Anastasia smiled. "I'm always glad to help." Xander just didn't have an idea as for how glad she was.

/ / /

In the middle of the night, a scream woke Xander up. Habits came before thoughts, and Xander found himself up awake before he even realised what had happened. The door opened, a guard looked into the room, checking whenever there may was an intruder with the prince, before moving on to the next room, to confirm if the girls were safe.

He followed, although slower, into the corridor of the upper floor of the building. Leda and Isla were coming out too, and Xander expected Anastasia to come any moment.

"Where's Minerva?" Isla immediately asked.

A guard had just entered her room, and they could hear a vague "Lady Minerva?" from the inside, followed by a louder "All clear". The guards moved on to downstairs, leaving only the one in Minnie's room and one other with the five.

"I—" Minnie spoke, and in one word, Xander understood what was going on.

He turned to the girls. "Go and sleep. It's an early morning and there's no one here."

"Are you sure?" Anastasia asked, concerned. He nodded. Even though all girls glanced at another, none questioned his words and that at least was good. Very good, actually—because Xander knew that the less people were around, the better it was.

He had seen nightmares with Victoria all too often.

He stepped into Minnie's room, where the guard wasn't being helpful. He gave him a sign to leave, and thankfully, the guard didn't question his order. Minnie was trembling, and Xander, careful not to move too quickly, sat down at the other side of her bed.

"Lady Minerva?"

"I'm—I'm sorry," she stuttered.

"It's alright," he replied calmly. Her PTSD, he assumed. He had heard enough about it. "Do you know where you are?"

"Somewhere in Angeles… Outside Los Angeles… I didn't pay attention where we drove," she slowly replied. "I—I just had a—"

"It's fine. I understand," he replied, trying to talk as quiet as he could.

"We are in some form of holiday house…" she remembered. "You talked about having spent time with your siblings here."

He nodded, again. "What can you hear?"

"You talking… there's wind outside… people walking and talking downstairs—who is—?"

"The royal guard," Xander replied calmly. "They are here to protect you."

"And… there's some rumpling downstairs too... Are they searching around?"

Xander nodded. "They are searching the perimeter, as the protocol says. Did you have a bad dream?"

Minnie hesitated—probably not to make up a good answer but out of embarrassment. "I get them a lot when I'm in new places."

"I'm sorry to hear that. If I had known, I wouldn't have taken you along."

"It's…" Minnie took a deep breath. "It's alright. I should have told someone. Now everyone's awake. Great."

"They are used it to it."

"Are they?"

Xander nodded. "The protocol they follow states for them to go out and search the perimeter in every situation that indicates a form of danger. Any form of danger."

"Including waking up screaming," Minnie finished bitter.

"Victoria does it a lot too," Xander admitted. So much about not revealing too much about his sister, but Xander had never been good at keeping to his word that well. Especially not at three o'clock.

"Ah, I see," Minnie nodded, glancing aside. She sighed, and stood up. "I think I'll go and eat something..."

Xander frowned. "It's three o'clock…?"

Minnie shrugged. "I think there are enough people in the world that do that."

And while Xander let her take the night robe and leave the room, that didn't stop him from making conclusions. That didn't stop him from following her downstairs— _just to check if she's alright_ , he told himself—and watch her drown the only alcohol around. Watching that, he chose to remain quiet and return to his—now uninterrupted—sleep.

A few hours later, Xander woke up again, but through the sounds of birds and not anyone screaming. He had slept well—not that he had any issues, but today's sleep was extraordinarily good—despite the interruption. He made a mental note to do meditation again.

To his, though positive surprise, he found Minnie awake upstairs already. Given the time—earlier than any logical 'let's wake up' time—he assumed the others weren't awake just yet. After dressing himself, he hesitated.

"Did you sleep better?" he asked, politely. Given how much Minnie had drunken, he expected her to be hungover.

"Yes," Minnie replied. She didn't look that well though. The make-up hid a lot, but Xander caught the fatigue in her eyes. She slouched—quite unlike her common posture. Of course, all he had heard had told him that Minnie was a much more casual version of Leda, the business woman, but did that imply this?

Besides, was it the lack of sleep or the hangover?

Xander had seen both in his family, and he didn't like either. "Is there any way I can help you?" he asked, quite lost. What else was he meant to say? With Vicky, he had Tori to help him, and Evan was always around. They could take over when immediate problems were over, help and let Xander return to his work…

"Nah, I'm fine. Really, just a bad dream. It's fine, don't worry."

"Are you sure?" Xander frowned. "I've seen these nightmares with enough of my friends, Lady Minerva. I know they're terrible."

"Again," Minnie repeated, "I'm _fine_."

"Then, I suppose," Xander hesitated, "that's good to hear. Have you ever spoken to a doctor about your nightmares?"

Minnie hesitated, and Xander wanted to sigh. All of these girls, sans Anastasia, were far too good at the court game. Far too good at lying. If Xander hadn't grown up at court, he wouldn't have seen one of them. "Yes, I have. I know my ways."

"If you need help, we can help you," he chose to say instead.

"I really don't."

"That's good to hear, then," Xander replied. "If you excuse me…"

Xander headed downstairs. He found Isla already awake, in front of the kitchen isle with milk and a bowl of cereal. She looked up when Xander came down the stairs. "Good morning," she said, although not as enthusiastic as she could have been.

"Good morning," the prince replied. "You are awake early."

"I tend to. Annie is always awake early. Children's sleep circle."

Xander nodded. Not that he had any idea of young children—he may was years older than Victoria, but when she had been a young child of Annie's age, he hadn't been very involved into her actual upbringing. They had, just like the rest of the royal children, played with another—but who knew when she woke up?

He didn't even know when she woke up nowadays.

"Do you miss her?" Xander guessed, correctly.

Isla nodded and turned to a saucepan. She was making pancakes, Xander deduced. "I taught her the alphabet and numbers with car bingo. I've been thinking about what she's been up to ever since."

"I'm sure she'll be alright without you."

"She will be, but me?" Isla huffed. "I miss my little girl. Even if she wants a pink car."

"A pink car?" Xander repeated. Right. One of the two Annies—he had no idea which; how high was the chance that two Selected would bring girls of similar age with the same nickname—had spoken to him about princes and crowns. Typical girlish toys, he assumed.

"We…" Isla hesitated. Great. Another one to make perfected statements. "We once saw a pink car at home, and she's been obsessed with having it ever since."

"Back at home? In Sumner?"

Isla nodded. "It looked like it was straight from a Barbie movie. Not my taste, but Annie is young. It's understandable, I suppose."

"I am honestly surprised that there are pink cars still there." Given the mass escapes from Sumner by the upper class and the fact that he couldn't see someone of lower income spend their money on a _pink_ car, he didn't expect that.

"I assume a family living there intended to come back home, but ended up staying somewhere else. Given the crime rates in Sumner's cities, it's understandable that they didn't want to come back."

"I see." Xander nodded. He took a bowl, the milk and cornflakes himself and sat down. It wasn't his preferred type of meal, but it would do, and given Isla's background, he didn't plan to complain. "Lady Isla, if you don't mind me asking—what is your side on the tensions between you and Lady Leda?"

"Her 'fine arts' are—I apologise—the embodiment of having money left over to waste. I don't like to think about the fact that there are people who pay thousands of dollars of a painting when someone is in need of food. Leda is a Four—you'd expect her to know a bit of what is going on among the lower castes—but unfortunately, she does not. I don't like ignorant people. That's it."

He nodded, again. There wasn't much else he could say; both had a somewhat reasonable argument, he supposed. Given Isla's attitude on Sumner—was she angry at him for choosing to build new cities?—he didn't particularly want to continue much more on that topic either.

Xander hesitated. Isla was far more difficult to deal with than Anastasia—that much was sure.

"How… are you faring, in the Selection?" he asked, hoping to strike up a casual conversation.

"Good," Isla replied. "I used to go to a good school on a scholarship. The students were terrible, but it was good education. I'm keeping up well."

"That's nice," Xander replied.

"Yeah," Isla replied. Silence fell. She took the pancake batter and began with making the first ones in the saucepan. "Want some?" she eventually asked.

"Sure," Xander replied, forcing a smile.

And the silence fell again. For a member of the Selected, Isla wasn't the best at striking a conversation. If the whole Selection centred around trying to win his favour, then she wasn't doing all too well, but maybe that was the worry about her sister, or Sumner.

In fact, it probably was the reconstruction work there, he presumed. He could bring it up, explain why and hope to reach her, but from what he had seen of Isla—he doubted that. He was too tired for any form of drama—for now. Not when he had a meeting with the Minister of Education later on.

"Why did you decide to go ahead with the construction of new cities?" Isla, eventually inquired.

"The benefits outweigh the downsides. Your point—with people having emotional connections to the maintaining cities—is very much valid, but there are benefits to leaving the cities untouched too. Scientific research about the change in environment, for example."

"You can't study the _environment_ when they are filled with criminals. The Great Unrest gave rise to so much crime, and Sumner is a centre to that!"

"Unfortunately, we do not have the forces to deal with that crime as of now."

"March in with the military. You did that in Fennley!"

"That in Fennley was the Unrest's—"

Isla slammed her hands on the table. "Seriously? Are you going to say that Fennley and the rebels are different than Sumner and criminals? I thought the rebels _are_ criminals?"

"They were but…"

"But?"

He wanted her to be genuine, and he got it. Except that genuine seemed to equal with people being angry. She had all reasons to, Xander reminded himself. Good reasons, too. It was her home.

"I don't want to push soldiers into yet another war. As well, there are people peacefully living in these cities, and they'd be influence by raiding them and—"

" _I know_. I was one of them." Isla hissed. "Get them out, raid them and go on."

"It's not that easy."

"Life is never easy!"

"I'm very well aware of that, Lady Isla," Xander sighed. "Unfortunately, the matter isn't that easy." Maybe, he could delegate her to the governor of Sumner. That would solve the issue for him. Xander rose. "I'm sure that the Governor of Sumner would be interested in hearing your feedback. I'll have him contact you."

He rose—totally not because he didn't want to discuss the matter further—and turned away. "I'll see to how the others are faring."

At least the car ride back was filled with senseless, distracting games.

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **Full disclaimer, I have no idea about alcohol and bullshitted that scene together. Tried googling, talked through bit more. Dunno if it worked. I hope it did. A bunch of writer friends tried to help. Also, I did not beta.**

 **Also happy Valentine's Day this chapter 10/10 is totally specifically updated for this. It's very Valentine's Day, isn't it?**

 **Let me know what you think of this round. I totally remember this chapter that I wrote three to four months ago. Let me know what you think will happen next, because I don't know.**


	37. Chapter 36

Fallout

Xander's next date is a trip with Leda, Anastasia, Minnie and Isla. Soon, tensions between Leda and Isla become evident, and Xander learns about the differences in opinions between Leda and Isla, wondering how much he is missing. Later on that night, Anastasia helps him take a break and they speak about his sister, and Minnie has night terrors at night. In the morning, Isla and Xander end up in a harsh discussion about the Sumner reconstruction, with no clear answer.

Chapter 36

» Maybe being honest to oneself wasn't that good«

Xander's Drawing Room, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa

This was strange, Xander couldn't help but thinking.

This was right, Xander told himself. After all, this was the Selection and he had an obligation to help Sophia keep up that fairy tale image that she wanted so bad. It was entirely in the idea of the Selection that Xander would go out and meet with the girls. That's how it worked. That was the plan.

Except that now, he had chosen to do this round, give each girl a chance and be fair but—

"Everything is allowed, in love and war," he told himself. He had done that earlier in his life, though, and that hadn't ended all too well.

Xander Illéa had asked for Irina Cavanah to come by to his room. He vaguely remember that such, visiting the prince's chambers, had been a special privilege in his father's Selection—going by the tales told by Abby—but he wanted to speak to Irina as person, not as prince. His office didn't fit.

He needed an answer.

"Lady Irina has arrived, sir."

"Please let her come in."

Irina had long fallen into the pattern of the palace fashion, and by all means, Xander respected that. He had heard enough about some girls—eliminated girls—insisting on wearing their own style, but being a royal meant the ability to adept. Besides, Irina looked beautiful. Really beautiful.

"I… I'm sorry for bothering you."

Irina opened her mouth, but hesitated. "I would say 'This is part of the Selection', but given how often I've let myself into your office, I suppose it's more habit. I do have something I need to talk to you about, though, so it fits with me."

Something she had to talk about with him? Was that good or bad? Being so ominous was never good, was it? He had been ominous when bringing the news of his mother's death to his father. Was Irina planning to leave? Had their date pushed her away?

"Then," Xander replied, gesturing to sit down, "go ahead."

Irina sat down, glanced on the table and straightened her back. She looked into Xander's eyes. "Do you remember our conversation at the convention?"

"Yes." She was going to ask to leave. She was going to ask to leave. He messed up.

"We were talking about travelling, and then, we came back on your hesitancy in regards of love and how to chose your One."

"Yes."

"Xander, I feel like there is something missing. There's something that you haven't added. You say that you're concerned about choosing someone who will cause lasting consequences, such as your mother."

"And…?"

"I…" Irina broke off, and glanced aside. She glanced at her immaculate nails. "I can't help but thinking—there's something off. That there's something, you haven't told me about. Of course, this is a big choice and will inevitably come with consequences, but—there's more to it. It's a logical thing. You could…" she broke off.

"I could…?"

"The Selection has been going on for three weeks. You've seen how the people reacted to all of us. Soon, you'll have met each of us properly. Why are you still afraid?"

"It's just an illogical, I do. What if I chose the wrong person for the country? What if the girl I like isn't—"

"The girl you like?" Irina frowned, in disappointment—and more? More than Xander couldn't read—or didn't dare to. Of course, Xander told himself. Someone as logical as Irina wouldn't be fond of him choosing based on feelings. Especially with how that ended up last time…

"I'm only human, Irina," he chose to say, but looked down. "If I can, then I want to fall in love, but what if I love the wrong person?"

"Do you like one of the Selected?"

"I don't know."

"You weren't concerned about this in the past."

"I was afraid that it'd happen."

"So, do you like Kate?" Irina blurted out. "Is that why you are so concerned? Because you like her, and she isn't exactly material for the throne?"

"No!" he called out. "I mean… Lady Katheryn is a lovely lady, but I've met her a total of two times. I couldn't tell if—"

"Who then?" Irina demanded. "Who, in the Selection, do you like that much that you are avoiding talking to me about this? I thought we were beyond that, Xander. You've been… more open to me than this. Who of the girls are you considering but me?"

"… but you?"

"I—" Irina blushed. "I don't mean to… I…" she stuttered and broke off. She took a deep breath, gathered herself. Xander's heart skipped a beat. What if? What if? "I, kind of, like you, Xander. I respect you, and I know that you respect me. I like that. I like you."

"Irina, I—"

She wasn't done yet. "I understand that you are worried that you will find someone that isn't fit to lead Illéa with you. That you are concerned that you will fall in love with the wrong person, or that the right person won't like you. I like you, Xander. I know that I am a capable leader. I know that until now, we've been more-the-less friends, but… I don't want to just be that. I'm a part of the Selection too, but I need to know what's going on."

"Irina…"

"Can you tell me that?"

Xander couldn't help a smile. Not when this was what he had needed. "At first, I was afraid to fall in love with the wrong person, and at the same time, I was afraid I wouldn't find someone who could lead Illéa. What if the woman I like won't work with Illéa? What do I do if I have to chose another?" he paused. "But the woman I like would be a good Queen. I know that, because I agree with you. I like you too, Irina."

She smiled. "I'm glad to know that we are on the same page."

"I am too." Xander paused. He didn't exactly have much of a plan as to what to do now. It was just… good to know. Good to know that he didn't need to be afraid or worried about the outcome of the Selection anymore.

Yet, though, he knew that there was one thing he couldn't do. "I cannot end the Selection yet, though." Not when so many things were vaguely planned and he didn't know for sure if Irina was really the One. They were only young, after all. And he needed time.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor, Xander."

"… You really need to make me watch these movies."

"I'll do," Irina chuckled. "What I mean to say is—it would be inappropriate of me to [ush you towards that. It would imply that I only want the best for me, and that's not true. There's Illéa, and you." And logic dictated that they didn't know if this 'like' would stay or change.

Xander smiled. "Right. Thank you."

Irina rose. "That being said—do you have time right now? It's not too late in the evening, and I, surprisingly, do not have any plans. We might as well get started on The Hobbit, can't we?"

Xander followed her suit, and stepped closer to her. "The palace—thank Gregory Illéa—actually has a home cinema. We could go there, maybe?"

Irina smiled—now much more like a happy child than the strong, beautiful woman she was. "Oh, definitely!"

Xander, although he didn't use the cinema as much as Sophia and Ernest, knew his way through. He listened to Irina's casual chatter about The Hobbit, how the movie had been made and where it came from. Because the cinema was in the basement, they had to walk down the three floors, but with Irina's chatter on the books, that was fine.

"You know," Xander eventually said on their way, stopping for a moment. "I was thinking. I'll need to deal with the British-New Asian tensions eventually. Not only does Illéa, but all of the world. I've been starting to make talks in regards of a summit between world leaders."

Irina nodded, all professional and calm. "Is it going to be held here in Illéa? Wouldn't our history with New Asia and Russia, as well as our alliance with European countries make us biased?"

Xander shook his head. "I haven't figured out how, but I want to try and talk the Commonwealth into hosting it in New Zealand. So I can bring you girls and have an excuse to go and see Hobbiton with you, in person."

Irina hesitated. "That's—that's gonna be expensive."

"Not if the Commonwealth ends up paying. Even if I can't take all girls, I would take you. Travelling, as we said—but for work and person reasons."

"I…" Irina laughed out, happy. "Are you serious?"

"I've only started talks, but I think it's doable. New Zealand is a peaceful country. It's got more sheep than people. I could talk the Commonwealth into making the official suggestion, and held it there, because it's somewhat close to New Asia, but less intimidating than Australia would be."

"I… Xander…" Irina smiled. "You better make that happen now."

"I'll give my best." Xander leaned in, and before he knew, he kissed Irina, and she kissed him back.

"I—I'm sorry. I don't have much experience with—" he stuttered after.

Irina laughed. "That's fine, Xander. It's fine. Really."

"Really? I'm—" he broke off. "What am I even worrying about."

"If you're so concerned," Irina dared, "then I'm willing to help practise."

"I'm happy to accept that help," Xander replied, kissing her once more.

"You know what, your highness?" Irina teased. "I think the only way you're "going to get better is if you practice every day."

"At least I've got you to help. I don't see an issue with that."

They did not get to watch Lord of the Rings that day, but by all means, Xander wasn't complaining. He was happy. Maybe the Selection wasn't that scary after all.

/ / /

Women's Room in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Jaira Phillips

"Team three, assemble!" Jaira announced. Even though they still had more than enough time, the 'team do some philanthropy work or something' was all too set on working something out now, to avoid any time problems.

Alongside Jaira, her team included Deylin, Rie, Leila and Nereida. Jaira liked to think that to be a good line-up, including representing all types of people. "I would say, let's do something with hospitals," she said. "I'm a bio-chemist. I work on developing medicine. It's something I care about."

Rie tilted her head. "I'd like to suggest something relating to Eights, for obvious reasons. There are a few charities and shelters helping us. I want to support them."

"What about doing something related to giving medical supplies or similar to them?" Deylin suggested.

"Maybe a veteran hospital?" Leila piped up. "Or a charity that helps them readjust to their lives?"

"I like that one," Rie nodded.

"Sounds good to me!" Nereida hummed. To be fair, Jaira almost expected her to say that to everything though.

Quickly, she made notes. "Veteran hospital or similar, and look at charities."

"Very good," Leila replied. "We do need to discuss what exactly we want to do, though. I'm sure that if we find a charity to work with, they will be happy to handle the financial aspect of it, but we need round about everything else, though."

"If we do want to raise money," Deylin begun, "how does that even work? Where do we get it from? I never understood that…"

"I…" Nereida broke off. "I don't know!"

Leila overlooked the comment. "Awareness, meaning the whole thing will be in the news and online, which will include invitations to donate, as well as, essentially, selling access. That's how it often goes. We could, quietly, invite people who can afford it in exchange for a 'voluntary donation'."

"Except it's not voluntary if they want to come," Rie deadpanned.

Leila shrugged. "The type we aim at can pay the medical bills of a veteran with the amount they spend on clothes for a day. They don't care—and it makes them look good. That's why people want Princess Sophia to come to their events. Not because she'll end up donating tons, but because people will come to meet her, and pay to come."

"Ooooh!" Nereida called out.

"We have the people you want to meet. The royal family, the Savoys, and the Selected," Jaira stated. "That should be more than enough."

"It is," Leila nodded. "Plus, maybe we can ask Veira to invite her uncle. Even better."

"Her uncle?"

"Governor Schreave of Waverly. He's been running the province for years," Jaira elaborated.

"Would we get enough coverage though?" Deylin asked. "I mean, why would they put on footage of some people talking and eating? Isn't that what they do at galas?"

Rie shrugged. "We could do something more interesting with that, maybe?"

"Such as?" Nereida asked. "Oooh! We could go to a ballet!"

"That's…" Leila hesitated. "Probably a bit off-topic."

"Given that there are still veterans in hospitals, maybe that? A hospital visit?" Jaira suggested.

"While children might like that," Rie remarked, "I can assure you, your average soldier isn't that invested into meeting a bunch of girls dressed up. And it kind of feels like we are just showing off, and don't put emphasis on them."

"What about teaming up with a hospital, or shelter or something, and doing some sort of event? Maybe a walkathon?" Leila offered. "We could also look if some of the other Selected have veteran family members who would like to help."

Rie titled her head. "That's dumb. It just highlights disabilities."

"It would raise awareness, though," Deylin reasoned.

"It would make a spectacle out of it," Rie deadpanned. "There are enough people who fetishize amputees. No need to give them material."

"Maybe," Jaira said, "we could go for something team-work like? As in, we pair someone with a disability and someone without up? To promote helping another."

Rie didn't seem very happy with that suggestion, though. Jaira was good enough at reading people to see the disdain form in her face and her glance at them. "Again. It's just highlighting it and makes us seem like we can't function on our own."

"I like it," Leila said.

"I think it's sweet!" Nereida agreed.

"It sucks." Rie replied. "I like the team work, not the 'let's display disability' part."

Deylin frowned. "So, as cool as this is—the born-Illéan-princess-turned-Italian-Queen visits and what do we do? Go to a hospital? Is this how we want to represent Illéa?"

"We would show the world that we, in Illéa, are recovering, and helping those in need," Leila replied.

"If we do the walkathon, then we could invite not only Amelie but also Sophia, and maybe the two Italian princes, to join us?" Jaira remarked. "Then we've got them in too."

"Would royalty to that?" Rie deadpanned. "I don't know-but I can't picture Sophia doing that, at least."

Leila shrugged. "If she didn't want to, then she should have given us guidelines, don't you agree?"

"I'm not entirely sure if that will make much of a difference though," Jaira pointed out. She took the papers filled with notes. "We could invite the public to join, against a small fee. If anyone related to whatever charity or hospital, we'll work with want to join, they can for free, of course. Then it's not a spectacle or something, but an activity for everyone."

"So, more like a festival?" Rie asked.

"Something for everyone. Children to elderly people."

Rie nodded. "I like that better."

"Great!" Nereida, with her extraordinary input, cheered. "Maybe we could find a way to connect the children and veterans?"

"Oh?" Leila turned to her. "That's a good idea. We could, besides that, find a local school or kindergarten to team up with veterans, and even elderly people—connect generations and that kind of stuff!"

"Oooh, I like that!" Nereida cheered.

Jaira smiled. "I do too." The others agreed. "Rie, do you maybe want to look into finding a hospital, charity or anything similar that would work with that? I trust that you know best."

"I can," and Leila said that with disdain, "look at the organisation in general. Coordinate things—especially with local councils and so on. Where'd we do that?"

"In the provinces mostly affected by the war?" Deylin suggested.

"We'd need to travel—that'd probably be either Fennley or Sumner. Angeles would do fine, wouldn't it?" Jaira suggested. "I mean, the Unrest ended here, so…"

"True." Deylin nodded. "Then, Leila speaks to local authorities. I can look into finding children."

"I'll speak to Princess Sophia about our plans," Jaira promised. She may, given Nereida's history with not knowing obvious things, left her out on purpose. "That sounds like a good plan. Good work team!" Jaira hummed. She began collecting the notes, handing each team member the ones they needed to focus on, when Andreia stepped closer to the couches and table they had been occupying.

"What's up?" Deylin asked her.

"Have you guys seen Irina around?" she asked. "I've been trying to find her, but it's no doing no good."

"Ask the staff?" Leila suggested. "Or maybe, she's working? She's one of the more diligent listeners in the lessons. Maybe she's revising?"

"We always do that together. That's why I'm looking for her."

"Odd. Where do you usually hang out?" Deylin asked.

"One of our rooms, or the Women's Room. I checked that."

"Maybe, ask Leda or Rowan? Maybe Isla? They're quite studious too," Leila added on. "Maybe she joined them?"

Andreia shook her head. "I met saw them on my way here with the kids."

"That's odd," Rie stated with a frown. "I'm sure she'll be around though."

"If she was eliminated, we would've heard," Deylin agreed. "Let's check with the staff."

/ / /

Xander's Office in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Irina Cavanah

It was odd to say, how much one moment could change. Outside and inside, Irina knew, that something was different now. Maybe because she was much more honest with herself—that she liked Xander.

Three days after that first kiss, Irina found herself on her way to Xander's office one more time—for the unspoken tradition of her visit before his dates. Since Kate and Xander's decision to keep her in, that meant a bitter taste though. Hence her not coming last week.

"Knock, knock," she muttered, ignoring the guard that was well accustomed to her continuous visits.

"Come in," the prince replied. "How was your morning?"

"Isla Woodley stepped on my feet twice when I we were having dance practise," Irina chatted, "with heels."

Xander cringed over his paperwork. "That doesn't sound good."

"How was your morning?"

"Budgeting."

"Fun."

Xander nodded. "I'm going through the budget Sophia has proposed for the next month. The Italians are leaving nearby the end, so I consider that to be a good spot to do another cut-off."

Irina nodded. She knew that. "Who?"

"I have some I'm considering." And Kate Blanchard wasn't one of them. "I'm a bit concerned as to what I've heard about Zarah Baine."

"Huh?"

"Blair Willow told me that Zarah seems to want to head home. At least, she said that she behaved in a way that implied that. I barely even remember my only conversation with her, so I can't say much."

"Zarah…" Irina paused. How should she put that? "She seems to be the type to be here for the caste upgrade and money. I agree. I think she was surprised not to be eliminated."

"Oh?" Xander looked up. "That's good to know. She's in today's date; I think I should be able to check on that then."

"Paintball, was it?" Irina nodded. That sounded fun. Too bad she wasn't in it—even if the convention was her first choice.

"Laser tag, actually. The closest place does laser tag, and to be honest, I would prefer that."

"I'm really disappointed that I'm not invited," Irina joked. "I'd be good at it."

"We can go another time," Xander promised. "We also have Alessandra, Sawyer and Ami today. What can you tell me about them?"

Irina sat down, and thought for a moment. "Alex has an on-going fight with Harriet. They constantly clash. Alex has Leila on her side, while Harriet has Veira on her side—as far as that goes. Veira tends to sleep a lot in class."

Xander nodded. "What are the tensions between Alessandra and Harriet about? Is it the same as Isla Woodley and Leda Conner?"

"… Oh? Are there tensions between them?" Irina asked, surprised. "Alex dislikes Harriet's upper-class attitude, I suppose. I guess she and Zarah get along?"

"I see." Xander nodded.

"What happened with Isla and Leda?"

"They've got similar differences."

"I see," Irina nodded. "Ami and Zarah are friends, but Ami is more-the-less Nereida toned down, from what I caught on. A bit impulsive, but alright. You'll be fine."

"I do hope that…" Xander nodded.

"What have you been working on?"

"Nothing major. Just the education budget for the next school year." Xander sighed. So, there were problems with it.

"What's the problem with it?"

"I'm unsure as to how to proceed. Sophia and a few other people agree that we should put more money into the education of the lower castes—to prevent another uprising. You know, the idea that educated people make better decisions. However, we need a lot of money for infrastructure—there isn't much we can move without raising taxes, and given the nature of the beginning of the Unrest, that's a bad idea."

"Economic issues, yes." Irina nodded.

"There just isn't enough money. That's why I also need to look over Sophia's Selection budget—because it's far too large."

"How many girls were you planning to kick out, again?"

"Five to ten. I'm concerned that ten will look too much, but the maths say that five isn't enough. I'll need to see. Maybe six or seven. Maybe Sophia's charity work is well received and will distract the population."

Irina tilted her head. "It's not as much focus as to guessing why the girls from last time were chosen to come. I suppose, though, if you need to make a statement, the combination of 'I don't want to make false hopes' and 'It's expensive; we can use the money elsewhere' seems appealing enough."

Xander nodded. "True." He glanced to the clock, and Irina found herself almost sighing. Always busy. Xander was always busy. She didn't like that—she needed to find a way for this to change. "I need to go, I have a meeting in town," he said.

How strange, Irina thought, how one moment could make her start feeling so heavy about the Selection. Gone was the ideal platform for her to spread her own ideas. Gone was the door to politics. There was only that glance, wondering whenever she really wanted Xander to go on a date she helped organise. Maybe being honest to oneself wasn't that good.

/ / /

Author's Note

I totally beta'd this. 100%. Totally. Mega beta read. Twice. (Please don't ask me what happened, I forgot.)


	38. Chapter 37

**Fallout**

 _Xander asks Irina to come by, and Irina breaks the question of what's been going on. The two have a heart-to-heart, and Irina slips that she likes Xander—much to his fortune. He confesses the same, and they end up kissing. The Philanthropy group plans their event, focusing on Unrest veterans, and Irina and Xander discuss his next date, the girls in it and politics. Irina grows a bit jealous._

 **Chapter 37**

» A bomb?!«

 **Los Angeles Laser Tag Arena, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

Was Xander nervous? Yes.

Did he wonder whenever today was going to go well, when there was Irina and he already felt concerned regarding Zarah? Yes, he did.

He had been forced to meet the girls at the laser tag place, due to work requiring him elsewhere. Not that he minded—he really wasn't fond of car rides and being put together with the girls in such tiny spaces.

Now arriving at the place, noticing the four girls standing with the camera crew and talking to them, he couldn't help but feel tense. _One will be your wife_. One, even if he had one he liked. What if he was approaching this all wrong now?

"Good day, ladies," he spoke, with a smile made for cameras, not family.

"Hello!" Ami piped, having been speaking to Alex. "I'm going to beat you."

"No, you're not," Alex replied with a proud grin. "I'm sorry, Lady Ami, but I'm a master at laser tag." Xander chuckled at that rivalry. At least, it was good to know that Alex wasn't one of Sophia's stuck up superstar friend.s "I'll let you know that I have the high score in laser tag at home."

"Well… I…" Ami hesitated. "I'm going to win either way. I'm a professional athlete, you know!"

Zarah crossed her arms. "Fight me—I'm going to win," she declared.

"Fuck you, no? I'm winning!" Alex joked.

"Wait for me," Sawyer huffed. "I can assure you, I got my experience with shooting."

"Do you now?" Ami dared. "Then we'll see."

The arena employee had been watching the girls quietly—and awkwardly. "Excuse me, uhm…" he begun. The palace had contacted them before, so he should have been warning, Xander thought. "This is a team game. Given the numbers, we're—"

"Eh, I can join," someone—Tori Belasko who had insisted on watching this particular date the instant she heard of it—noted. "I got some experience with that."

The few members of the royal guard that knew Tori's identity didn't seem all too happy with that, but Xander knew—Tori had long moved to distrusting the rebellion.

"I'm Tori Belasko, in case you forgot," the brunette added on, directing her words at the four girls. "Xander and I are friends. Just friends, promise."

It took all self-control of Xander not to turn into a red tomato. "Right."

"We've got six people then," the employee nodded, dodging Xander's eyes. Nothing special. People tended to be odd around royalty. "Then we can do either two teams of three, or three teams of two."

"Can't we do battle royal?" Ami suggested.

"You'd lose in that," Alex hummed. "There's no way you'd win in that."

"We could do that last," Sawyer, more pacifistic, suggested.

"Uhm… yeah…" the employee nodded. "That's doable."

"And you guys can switch through with the teams, so everyone gets a moment with Xander. Do two-people teams, then," Tori suggested. She grinned—awfully amused. "I'm sure you'll enjoy his lovely presence."

"Tori—" Xander spoke up. "Please stop? I already have Evan doing that."

She shrugged. "Nah. Too much fun."

Xander sighed—and did not miss Zarah's laughter. "Alright…"

"Great?" The employee glanced at Xander and Tori, confused. "Shall we get started then?"

Gearing up, with the odd wests and glowing lights was quite easy—at least to Xander who had gone playing laser tag with Ernest and his mother when he had been younger. Each team wore wests that glowed in a unique colour—Xander's team was blue—and they had to aim at them to 'hit'. The area was a glorified, decorated obstacle colours with limited black light and fog machines. Nothing had changed since Xander had been here last—which meant he had an advantage. Unfair, but at least it'd look better on the cameras. Especially after League of Legends. The arena employee announced the teams—Sawyer and Tori, Zarah and Alex, and Xander and Ami.

Once they had taken positions and the machine lit up, Xander turned to Ami—to discuss strategies, just like everyone would. "We should start with—"

"I'm gonna win!" Ami called out and rushed into the dark.

"So much about strategies," Xander muttered to himself, but followed. In his own experience, you always did better when you had team mates to watch your back. He followed down to the darker allies. Given that he didn't like the fog machines, Xander didn't mind.

"Oh, hi," Ami muttered, as she was—very quietly—sneaking down the alley.

"How are we going to handle this?"

"By… shooting people? Isn't that the goal?" Ami blinked.

"Yes but—" Xander paused. "It's a very bad strategy."

"Does that matter?" she asked. "I just need to shoot more people than Alex, Zare and Sawyer."

"This isn't how you—" _win_ , Xander wanted to finish, but Ami was already gone. He followed, but at the next crossroad, he couldn't tell which path she had taken. Her sneaking skills were definitely good, he noted.

He heard the sci-fi-like sound of the guns firing to his left. Ami had, maybe, gone that way. Maybe she had found one of the other girls, and was trying to get her. When they got shot too much, erased all 'health' you had left, you 'died'. Hopefully, that wasn't going to happen to Ami… He followed.

In what was almost a valley, Xander found Ami shooting at Sawyer—and Sawyer shooting back. Ami wasn't very preoccupied with hiding, but that didn't mean that Xander couldn't also aim at Sawyer, take her out and _get out_ of here, to find a better place to work from. He aimed at Sawyer and pulled the laser tag trigger.

Unfortunately, that took a moment, and by the time he realised that his gun wasn't working anymore, Tori was already laughing. The brunette had taken position on a higher point, and while Xander had been waiting for Sawyer's vest to stop glowing—which with Sawyer regularly hiding behind a wall—it took a while.

"Wait—what?!" Xander looked up, and found Tori, amused, aiming at Ami.

"Hey! That's unfair!" Ami called out. She turned around, aiming at Tori—but no, her 'health' was going to be higher than Sawyers.

"Aim at Sawyer," Xander called out. "Her health bar—"

Ami's vest beeped. She was out too. Xander sighed—definitely disappointed. Tori waved to Sawyer; they were probably going after Alex and Zarah now. Ami groaned angry. "We lost! Impossible!"

Xander sighed. "That's what happens if you don't plan ahead—or run into battle." They could have expected Tori to pop up somewhere.

"But I wanted to get most points! I just need to shoot people for that, right?" Ami complained.

"You also need to stay alive," Xander explained, amused. It wasn't like he hadn't done exactly the same thing when he had been younger. "You make sure that you have someone to rely on. Your health recharges if you aren't being targeted for a while. You team up with someone to keep that going, to watch your back and still shoot."

"Like in video games?" Ami asked.

Except that he sucked at video games. "Yes," Xander nodded.

"Sawyer acted as bait, and Tori was waiting, just to take us out." Xander paused. "To be fair, I didn't pay attention to her either." He should have known. He knew Tori—it was inevitable that she was going to focus merely on targeting him.

"What do we do now, then?" Ami asked.

"I suppose, wait until the others are done with that round."

"Oh." Ami nodded. "Next round, I'm going to beat Sawyer!"

Xander chuckled amused. "Good luck with that." Not beating Sawyer, beating Tori, but details. "I'm not so sure if Tori is going to make that easy for you, though. Knowing her."

Ami froze for a moment. "Oh. Yes. Of course. I'm going to beat her too. I'll be better than her, for sure. Definitely."

"Do you have a strategy for next time?"

"Hmm…" Ami paused. "No, I'll need to come up with one."

Was it a bad idea to give Ami some advice on a strategy when he was going to be in a different team next? Yes.

Was he going to do it either way, because he felt bad for Ami? Yes.

"First of all, you can't just rush ahead."

"But that's the fun!" she hummed. "You just go in, take the adrenaline rush—it's like going down the mountain with a snowboard. Fun!"

"You're an athlete, right. I remember."

Ami, although hesitant, nodded. "I do snowboarding. Yes. And I'm going to beat Angel."

"Angel?" Xander repeated. "Who is that?"

Ami titled her head. "My sister. She started skiing professionally recently. She's really good. But I'm not going to let her win! I'll be better than her!"

"That's the spirit," Xander nodded.

Was Ami the type he would be interested in? He liked her spirit for sure, but if even, he could see the young athlete get along very well with Ernest. After all, Ernest Illéa had done exactly the same as Ami—he always rushed ahead in laser tag games. Maybe even Louis—he could use someone to push him out of the library.

Xander paused. He hadn't considered his brothers until now—not since the last elimination, at least. Had they even spoken to the girls? Ernest had, for _the_ _Report_ , but had Louis? He didn't exactly have time to check on them…

"How have you been finding the life in Angeles?" he asked Ami.

"Oh, it's so _hot_. I can't believe you can cope with this heat." Ami shook her head. "And it's only April; impossible."

"Angeles is indeed rather warm," Xander nodded. "It does have its advantages though."

"Such as? Dying of heat?"

"I was going to suggest 'you need less clothes', but I suppose heat shocks are more likely here than in Baffin."

"I lived in Tammins for a while," Ami recalled. "That was a nightmare."

"You lived in Tammins?" Xander asked surprised. Did he know that, and has just forgotten? Had that been a result of the Unrest? Had Baffins ever dealt with the rebels at all? Tammins had been among the red provinces so…

"Oh! Look! The others are done! I'm getting my revenge!"

Xander wasn't going to get an answer out of Ami today.

On the screen of the arena—currently empty, given that they rented it—Xander saw that Tori and Sawyer had, in fact, won. Both by points and kills, they had both stayed alive and taken out most. He glanced to the camera team; they had previously installed cameras in the arena, so they wouldn't need to bother with following them around. They were going through footage.

"Good job," he told the two winners. Though, and maybe that wasn't good; his next partner wasn't Sawyer but Alex.

They readied for the game, and unlike with Ami, Alex waited. She motioned, quiet—and that alone was a good sign—for Xander to follow her up to a higher spot. From there, they could see Tori and Zarah, talking and walking from their starting point.

"It's always better to get a view from above," Alex remarked. "Zare was a bit too loud for that, so I didn't risk it. Kind of weird to need to think of new strategies, because she now knows what I did last time." She paused. "To be fair, that one failed—but Tori and Sawyer were savage."

Xander nodded. "Do you have a plan for now?"

If he could, he'd suggest sharpshooting from here; they even had a chance to take out Tori and Zarah now, but Xander wasn't sure if the laser tag guns had enough range for that, so he chose not to worry too much.

"I'd say hope to hide and wait for the others to confront another. Surely, Sawyer and Ami will run into Belasko and Zare first."

Xander nodded, and watched Alex plump on the ground. Not very ladylike, he thought. "So, what's the tea?"

"… Excuse me?" Xander asked, confused.

"What's…" Alex shrugged. "Going on? Anything fun? I don't know how royals start conversation."

"Ah." Xander nodded. "I am quite busy, but given the nature of politics, that's quite inevitable. There's always something that needs to be fixed, and unfortunately, there is no direct handbook for it."

"Ah, yeah, sad life." Alex said.

"How about you?"

Alex groaned. "I hate it."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, just your typical 'your mother forcing you to fulfil her childhood desires' story. I fucking hate modelling. It's ridiculous, and the industry is a nightmare. Constant judgement, creepy old dudes and pushy agents. Or mums. Zero out of ten, would not recommend."

"… How come you are still doing it, then?"

Alex shrugged. "What else should I do?"

"What are you interested in?" Xander, by no means qualified as career advisor, asked.

"Ice skating, pranks, dancing, kids?" Alex shrugged. "I guess I could try and be a figure skater, but, you know, that's pretty damn difficult without thousands of years of practise and pushy parents."

"I—alright?"

"And talent. And luck, I guess. I mean, look at Ami. She's definitely the sportiest out of everyone around, and all, but is she going anywhere with it? No. She's using the Selection to gain some form of momentum, but ten out of ten, she's gonna end up as influencer or what not. What did other Selected do, after the Selection?"

Xander hesitated. The only Selected of his father he knew well enough were his mother and Abby Moon. Abby had been a singer before, but there was no denying that the Selection boosted her momentum. "I suppose, it varies?"

"Any examples?"

He should have done more research. "Abby Moon continued with what she enjoyed—music. She moved to Los Angeles and went from there."

"Anything else? Anything specifically around 'pushy parents and yay, now you're famous'?"

Xander hesitated. "I must admit, I've not heard a lot about my father's Selection—besides him and my mother, at least."

"Ah." Alex nodded. "Yikes… Well, okay, I guess I wouldn't talk about my ex-girlfriends to my son either. Makes sense. I suppose, Lady Abby joined the Selection to boost her career. Why'd your mum join?"

There were enough rumours about it. Lysandre Illéa had always claimed that the idea of a fairy tale romance just appealed to her; Xander had seen videos of his mother joking about it. Enough people believed that she merely wanted the crown or the money—but she had a stable, good acting career before that, so the latter had never been it.

"She genuinely believed into the love she'd find," Xander said.

"You want to believe that." She tilted her head.

"I've seen my parents. They loved another," Xander insisted.

Alex frowned. "You sure it's not just not, like, a sad dating website on drugs?"

"… Pardon me?" Xander paused.

"I mean, that's how it sounds to me. Mum wanted me to join because… god knows why, really. Exposure or some shit. I hate being put on the pedestal, but since when do we ask Alex for her opinion, right?"

"Hmhm…"

Alessandra Valentino had joined, because her mother had told her to, Xander concluded. She wasn't here for love, or even for making an impact on Illéa. Another one of these that he had missed—assuming Zarah was one of them. He should have focused more onto the interviews, he realised. If he was considering eliminating Zarah, then he should do the same with Alex. It was only fair—and she served no purpose in the Selection, neither for Xander, nor for his brothers.

"I suppose it's a nice break. I get to be myself, not mummy's dress up doll." Alex nodded. "Having a pause from being at home, and you know, without your narcissist mum beating you down every step of the way."

Xander gulped. If that was the reason why she had applied to the Selection, then had he any right to let her go just yet? He could, for sure, wait until the official elimination round—he should do the same with Zarah, he told himself. Maybe even longer—after all, he had heard enough about controlling parents from his own parents…

"Ah, Zarah and Ami are out," Alex noted. "Let's go at Tori first. I feel like she's a larger threat than Sawyer."

"Agreed." Very much agreed.

"The range from here isn't good enough," Alex noted. "We'll need to get closer."

"We could also wait until Tori has taken Lady Sawyer out, or vice-versa," Xander suggested. "They're in opposite teams, aren't they?" And he could contemplate this a little longer.

"True." Alex nodded. "But that's boring." She jumped up. "Let's go."

Xander followed—at least, this time, his team ended up winning. The two headed towards Tori first, reaching here only moments after Ami and Zarah had left—he could still hear them chatting—and two against one led to Xander and Alex winning. Sawyer was soon out too.

"Did you wait out the whole game?" Sawyer asked with a frown. "Up on the tower? Isn't that a tad boring?"

"Why is the tower even there?" Zarah wondered.

"There's a game mode that just goes with 'who makes most points'," Xander explained. "We can do that too, if you guys want."

"It'd mean people are less likely to be waiting until the game is over, so that'd be cool," Sawyer replied with a nod.

The employee spoke up, "Just a fair warning—people tend to just shoot at another despite dying in that game mode. That's why it's not the first. It gets much more boring."

"Oh, yeah," Alex nodded. "That makes sense."

"Yeah." Zarah nodded. "Let's just continue like this. Maybe leave the towers as a 'do not enter' zone? Or, like, you can only stay there for a moment?"

"I agree," Xander nodded.

And so, another round of laser tag started. This was, by far, not as exhausting as playing with his friends was—not when they rushed around and were part of top army units either way. This time, though, Xander found himself teamed up with Zarah, and that meant that the part that he dreaded would come. He needed to figure out, why she was here.

"Oh, you're with me now," Zarah muttered when seeing the new teams.

The game begun, and soon, Xander found himself busy hunting down Tori, whom everyone but Alex—her team mate this round—seemed to consider to be the biggest threat. Xander wondered if that was merely related to her skills, or more, but pushed that aside.

"Good work," Zarah muttered, and headed on when they had taken her out—with the help of all others. They were around corners, looking for a spot to shoot the next team from. Zarah was much less talkative than Ami and Alex. Maybe getting eliminated would make that easier…

"How do you like this?" he asked, trying to sprint up a conversation.

"It's okay," Zarah replied. She motioned for him to follow, to where Xander saw Ami and Sawyer talking to another. She motioned for him to aim at Sawyer. "Be ready to run, though."

Xander nodded, and the two started shooting at Sawyer. The guns made sounds, though, and that meant that they soon head the other two's attention. Zarah started shooting as they ran, but from the corner of his vision, it almost looked like she was trying to get hit. He turned around the corner, eventually pausing. Zarah wasn't coming. From the corridor he had come from, he heard a half-hearted, "Oh, you got me. Guess I'm out." Definitely Zarah.

He hesitated, and with a hand on the cold, black wall and the nasty fog, he paused. He gripped the gun in his hand. _One conversation with each girl, right? One will be your wife_. It'd probably be better for him to get out of the game now too.

"Ha! Got you!" Ami called out, pointed her gun at the prince, who definitely took more time on purpose to respond. A few clicks later, and while Ami was down in health, he was out too. The lights on his own vest blinked red.

"Good work," he told the Selected. At least Ami definitely enjoyed this. Maybe, he told himself, laser tag just wasn't Zarah's taste—but then again, what about her enthusiasm when they were starting? Just competitive spirit? He didn't think that to be true. Not given what he had heard.

Certainly, he was prejudiced now.

He headed through the dark, foggy—gosh he hated that smell; up with Alex, it had been much better—and around the corners, reaching the outside. The lights were still dim, and Xander was grateful for that.

"Oh, hi, you out too?" Zarah, leaning against the wall, waved. Tori was sitting with one of the guards, reading a book, and Sawyer, Xander assumed, had gone to the bathroom. Typical. Never bother socialising. She, at least, could have tried to get some information out of the girls. Why they had come here, maybe, or their opinions on his, and his father's politics. That would have been good to know.

He made the mental note to talk to Tori about trying a bit more. Irina, maybe, could be of help too. Evan probably would be considered too prejudiced, when most of the palace knew him to be Xander's best friend.

"Yes," Xander replied, and he thanked his media training for his lying abilities. He wasn't lying per se, of course—he was merely avoiding the full truth. "Did Lady Ami catch you?" he asked.

"I mean, yeah, that's kinda' obvious'," she replied.

"Of course," Xander nodded.

"Hmhm." Zarah glanced at her nails. They had been neatly done, Xander assumed—not that he had any idea of any nails at all—by one of the hired stylists for the girls. Another cost he needed to go down. Less girls, less money, he thought. Maybe, with Alex' attitude, she had to move for that…

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"Uh," Zarah paused. "Okay, so, Xander," she started and already, Xander didn't like where this was heading. Titles were there for a reason. Irina may have dropped the 'Your Royal Highness' ages ago, but she was a special case. "I have a question."

"Go… ahead?"

"How do you decide who to eliminate?"

Xander cringed. He had no idea himself—besides trying to not take in his family's biased opinion, he didn't have much of a plan. He hadn't even considered that he was trying to get his brothers married too—he should have thought about that before the first cut!

"Uh, why?"

"There's someone I need out."

That was petty, Xander thought bitter. "Who, if I may ask?"

"Me."

"Pardon me?" Xander paused looking out for a hideout, and turned to the lady, confused.

"I mean, I came here for the caste upgrade. I didn't expect to stay past elimination one. How do you get eliminated quickly? I've tried being as salty and rude in class, but that didn't do the job. You know, I just wanna go home—not get arrested for insulting the Crown."

 _Oh._

Well, at least, she was direct.

"You…" Xander paused. What was he going to say to that? "You could have asked?"

"You aren't exactly around a lot."

"I—you could have told someone. Sophia."

"Eh," Zarah shrugged. "Too much work."

"… Alright? You're—" he paused. "You are free to leave, if you want. If you want to stay past the Italian's visit, that's fine but…"

"Nah. I'm sure the Selection wastes enough money. I got what I need, already. I'm more than done."

"I see," Xander nodded. "Thank you for your honesty, Lady Zarah."

"No worries, bro." She nodded to Tori. "If I'm officially out now, is she really 'just a friend', or more?" Zarah asked, raising her eyebrows. Just as bad as Evan.

"Yes," Xander insisted. Tori had made that clear long ago. Anything they had had been a lie—a lie Xander hadn't seen through and that may have cost his mother's life. At least, he liked to tell himself, it hadn't been Tori who had revealed the safehouse location. It had been Jack, and only he was at fault. Only Jack.

"How do you know another?"

"We met during the war," Xander replied.

"How?"

"Nothing particular," Xander replied.

"That sounds particular," Zarah huffed.

"It is all." She was eliminated—no need to dig into his past and private relationships.

"Ah," Zarah nodded.

Xander chose to take the pause in the conversation as a reason to head to the local production head, and inform them of his decision. Not that they hadn't heard it, although Xander most certainly wouldn't allow that conversation to be aired, but formalities were such. Zarah would leave tomorrow, and be, with a palace aide, begin her life as former Selected and Three. She, of course, would be helped adjusting. A Six becoming a Three—even Xander understood the difficulties.

History had shown them.

Ami and Alex followed them out eventually. Sawyer returned—Xander had been right. Thank god, he realised—he didn't need to eliminate Zarah in front of another girl. He'd like to avoid that drama.

"Shall we take a break?" Alex suggested. "There's a mall nearby. We could get food?"

Before Xander could use the camera crew as an excuse to not go, one of the members already rose with a portable one. Always prepared—of course. Xander quietly cursed. He wouldn't voice that though, and so, the four made their way to the local mall, where Alex, before anyone else, declared they were going to get avocado toasts and fries. An odd combination, but it wasn't like Xander knew a lot about fast food.

"Why that?"

"It smells good, and I want it now," Alex declared. "If it makes you sad, I'll pay."

That, Xander "Scrooge McDuck" Illéa, did not oppose at all. While Alex, with Zarah and Ami as company head on—because Ami and Zarah both insisted on inspecting the menu first—Xander was glad to see that he had one more girl to go through. Given the time of the day, he liked to think they could end the date soon.

He also needed to make a decision on Alex, but he could do that when they were at the palace.

"Too bad, I didn't get to play with you," Sawyer remarked.

"It's quite late, I'm afraid. I wouldn't want to make the employees stay longer than they have to."

"That's fair. People dragging out their stay is a nightmare. I've seen it at the club."

"You work as a DJ, if I remember correctly?"

"Yeah. It's not as bad as the stuff during the occupation though," Sawyer paused, as if waiting for the go-ahead sign. "They used to linger around everywhere, including my father's restaurant. Demand free meal, because they were the new military and we do veteran discounts. Whenever the waiters or chefs disobeyed, we'd find a broken window, threat or outright beat up employees on the next day! They claim to be the 'heroes' of Illéa, and then go around, beating people to death! It's ridiculous! You couldn't even walk through the streets in the afternoon, because they'd just randomly pick on someone, call them casteist and lash out!"

"That's terrible," Xander replied, and he meant it. That was why they went against them, after all.

"I have friends in the upper castes, and seriously—they go and beat up every girl that wears little more expensive clothes. My best friend, a Six, got beaten up when she borrowed a dress to meet a guy!" Sawyer punched the wall of the small restaurant they entered. She rose her voice already. If this went further, he'd need her to calm down. "Then they just target people—my family!—just because they can. Seriously, I swear, if I can, I'm going to beat all of them up. All of them. Every single one."

"Lady Sawyer," Xander begun.

"Huh?"

"Would you mind lowering your voice? I would prefer not to attract attention."

"But have you seen what they were doing?!"

"Yes, one of my closest friends were stationed in—"

"My whole hometown was destroyed!"

"That's terrible, but—"

This time, it wasn't Sawyer to interrupt him, but Tori. "Xander, can I have you for a second?" She waves, with a tablet in her hand.

"What's up?" Sawyer asked, curious. "We were in the middle of a conversation."

"Uh, politics," Tori replied. "Nothing Code Black or anything," she added on before Xander could even start worrying. Code Black meant anything related to the rebels or his family's safety. "Just some foreign politics that require the Prince Regent's immediate attention. Nothing special."

"If it's not special, then you can tell me too, right?"

Normally, anyone would wait for Xander's confirmation, but it was all too well established that Tori had terrible abilities when it came to following the rules. "There was an incident in Italy, and a bunch of advisors focusing on foreign relations, particularly Europe, want to see if we even want the Italians here now. They view Italy as too unstable."

"By all means, we can't claim anyone else to be unstable," Xander remarked dry. Not after six years of civil war.

"What happened?" Sawyer inquired.

"There is a group that doesn't want the Italian heir on the throne; they prefer his younger brother, or a new one entirely. It's a group consisting of predominantly left-leaning activists," Tori summarises from the tablet. "They think that Carlos is too easily influenced—by local and foreigners."

Knowing his cousin, that is true. "What did they do?"

"A rumour, false, appeared that he was in Milan before heading here next week. Not true, because he chose not to go last second, but the location he was meant to stay at had previously had a bomb planted there. It went off, injuring at least twenty people, and killing three—the search is ongoing."

"A bomb?!" Sawyer called out—loud enough that Xander worried for the people present. Thankfully, the population of Angeles was desensitised to war threats by now. "How—how could they allow that to happen? That's terrible! They are terrible!"

"It happened around ten minutes ago. Our contacts in Italy informed us immediately, given the Savoy's upcoming visit."

"What exactly are the councilmen saying?" Xander asked.

"This isn't about people coming here; we need to help them! People were _killed_!"

"The advisors say that we should cut off the Italian's visit, or at least ask them to leave Carl in Italy. They are concerned about attacks; the Italian intelligence had warnings beforehand, but evidently didn't take them seriously enough."

"Then we should."

"That's not worth risking our relationship with them. I know my uncle; he could be insulted. Plus, with the increased airport security, and the military still on alert, we'll be fine over here. We won't cancel it, but send them our condolences; tell the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Have our ambassador to Italy visit the site."

"I'll forward that," Tori nodded. "Good to know that everyone's got their problems, huh?"

"What do you mean?" Sawyer frowned.

"I meant," and Tori was as blunt as always, "that every country as people trying to blow up stuff."

"Are you _normalising_ war?"

"It's pretty damn normal."

"Tori—"

Before he could tell her to drop the topic, Tori already shrugged, pulled out her phone and was on her way out. "See you, I got work to do," she said, when noticing the slight confusion on Sawyer's face. Of course—Tori wasn't part of the date.

Sawyer frowned. "I'm not sure if I like Irina's distance-to-victims-and-emotions attitude or her i-don't-care one less."

"Pardon me?"

"Irina Cavanah. She's your typical 'emotions are weakness' archetype. Sorry—but it's pretty obvious." Yes, he knew that, and he admired Irina for her abilities to not lead herself by them.

"I see," Xander nodded.

"It's, just, inevitable that she'll make someone feel bad for having them."

Xander vaguely nodded again. "Going back to your work—how did you start DJing?" A topic change, he thought, was definitely more welcome.

Whenever Sawyer realised that he had tried to change it or not, he listened to the story that led to Sawyer become a DJ, and they joined the other girls for an early dinner. Soon, though, and part of the reason was Xander's work already looming over him, they headed back to the palace. Only when they reached the Grand Staircase, Xander found the courage to do what he needed to.

Decrease the financial burden called 'Selection'.

Lower the numbers, find the ladies that were genuine competition.

"Lady Alessandra," he spoke up, just as she headed up the staircase. "Would you mind sparring me a moment?"

"Hmm?" Alex paused. "Sure. You guys go ahead, don't wait for me."

"Oh, I'll wait for you. I have news," Zarah hummed. Yes, and Alex had too.

Once the other girls were gone—out of reach—Xander cleared his throat. "I have decided to eliminate you from the Selection," he announced, as formal as he could. This had to be done with respect, not with the casualness that Zarah's elimination had.

"Ah," Alex said, "I guess my reason to be here isn't one to stay."

"Exactly," Xander nodded. "As much as I would like to aid you in avoiding your work's pressure, the Selection costs the country too much money for me to allow that. That being said, I would recommend you to take it as a change and change your career path."

"Yeah," Alex nodded. "I'll try to do that. How does this work from now on?"

"Lady Abby will be in contact with you shortly; she will set up contact to one of the specialised aides that will help you readjust after your stay at the palace." Xander's words couldn't have been less 'read from transcript'. "You will head home as soon as possible."

"Ah, cool. Do you mind if I go and tell my friends then?" Alex asked.

"You're free to go," Xander dismissed her.

He watched Alex walk up the stairs, looking a bit more heavy-hearted than he liked her to. _No_ , he reminded himself, _we need the money elsewhere_. Sumner. Schools. Helping the people. It was inevitable either way, and probably better to make the cut now, than later on. It was almost a month, after all. Almost a month into the Selection. A strange thought.

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **(Hi I'm sorry, I forgot, I was out all day.)**

 **Ah, yes, airport security. We all know how effective it is.**

 **The first two eliminations are Zarah Baine by Tis I, The Most Frenchiest Fry and Alessandra "Alex" Valentino, by Jcuret48. Both are lovely characters, but someone has to go, and both Zarah, especially with her relationship to Xaviour, and Alex, with the reason she is here, didn't have a reason story-wise/from Xander's POV to stay; their personalities just don't match enough. That being said, I really enjoyed writing them—more in this chapter than anytime else, and I'll miss them.**

 **I can, however, announce that I intend to start a small series of short (like, really short, don't expect chapter length) OneShots, one for each of the Selected, when they are eliminated or otherwise 'leave' the plot. Instead of the next chapter, the first two shots, featuring Zarah and Alex, will go up.! :) Depending on the Selected, they may also feature other girls (Alex' will!), so definitely check them out. The collection will be named Ground Zero and be up soon! (That being said, who knows if the eliminated girls won't reappear… :eyes:)**

 **I was going to add another scene, but French told me to cut it, so I'm cutting it. French helped a lot this chapter, so thanks! 3**


	39. Chapter 38

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Xander had a date with Ami, Sawyer, Alex and Zarah, playing laser tag. Ami maybe was terrible at the game and Sawyer a little too emotional in regards of the rebellion, but the date led to the elimination of both Zarah and Alex, on the grounds as to why they had come to the Selection. Xander also learns of a politically motivated terrorist attack in Italy, targeting his cousin._

 **Chapter 38**

» And I get to deal with the fallout«

 **Outside the Women's Room in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Sophia of Illéa**

Zarah Baine and Alessandra Valentino were standing in front of the other girls, in the women's room and if Sophia didn't know better, she would expect them to be about to announce something important. Of course, she knew better because any important Selection announcement would inevitably be going to run through her, so—

"Zarah and I are eliminated; we're leaving tomorrow."

"Awesome, right?" Zarah beamed.

They were—what?! They surely were joking! Maybe they were about to ask Xander to let them go, but most certainly, they were not actually eliminated. Xander would discuss that with her, Jonathan and the others before he would make such an important decision. There was no way that was true, and there was no way that she did not know. She was the Selection coordinator, after all!

"Your Highness, hello!" Kate, inside the room, noticed her stopping in a very unfortunate angle to the half open doors.

Sophia put on her best smile, and stepped into the room with the elegance of an angel. She folded her hands over her chiffon skirt and did not show the frantic search for what to say that was going on in her mind. "I did not mean to interrupt," she said, "and although it is unfortunate that you two are leaving, I am sure that our country will continue to benefit of your work."

" _Sure_." Zarah rolled her eyes. It was a blessing to know her out, if Sophia had to be frank. She leaned against the table in a manner of a punk, not the lady she was right now.

"A palace aide will help you in adjusting, of course. I understand that it may be difficult to readjust to your life, after spending so much time here in the Palace."

"Yes, of course you know," Zarah huffed. Where did this rudeness come from? She barely remembered interacting with the Selected from Paloma… Especially because Zarah didn't actually have any valid point in saying these things, because Sophia Illéa knew how difficult adjusting was. Certainly, adjusting to luxurious penthouse apartments in New York wasn't the same as going back to a dirty one-room apartment, but Zarah had connections to people of status…

Sophia did not lose her smile. "I won't bother you any longer, then," she replied, curtly turned around and made a mental note of the girls who had remembered to curtesy to her, a princess by blood.

Walking up the stairs to Xander's office where she expected to find her brother working was an easy task, and she soon found him there, with Victoria hanging over his work too. Her dear little sister, though, was of no concern at the moment.

"Sophy?" Victoria looked up to her, confused. "Do you want to join us?"

"No, Vicky, unfortunately I do not have the time for that, although I would love to. You must invite me for tea at some point."

Victoria was still reserved. "Of course."

"Sophia," Xander now acknowledge her too. "What can I do for you?"

Without being asked to, Sophia curtly took a seat. She crossed her legs at the ankle, with her best poker face. She did not want another such moment of Louis—or Xander, or dad—being able to read her like an open book. "I would like to inquire as to what it is about the apparent elimination of Alessandra Valentino and Zarah Baine."

"I eliminated them, yes."

"When?" Sophia inquired. She kept her face up. She kept it up. She could do that.

"At the end of the date. Lady Zarah showed no desire to be here anymore, and Lady Alessandra's reason for being here is not valid enough for me to keep her here. The girls cost us a lot of money, so I chose to eliminate them now."

"What about the Italian's visit? Do you _want_ the second group to be down by two members?" Sophia alleged.

Hesitation filled Xander. Good—he saw no reason to act towards her. He still trusted her. He frowned, "I did not think about that."

"You should have!" Sophia blamed. "It is up to me to figure this out now, you know. Lady Euphrosyne, Lady Ami and Lady Leda should not have been treated like that. Losing two group members—even worse."

"What are they doing?" Victoria, carefully, asked. "Depending on what they're planning, it may just be doable?"

"I don't know." Sophia was forced to admit that she hadn't gotten back to them yet; she knew about the other three groups by now, but this one, she was missing. Their deadline hadn't approached yet, so she hadn't even considered asking.

"To be quite frank," Xander admitted, "with the recent events in Italy, I'm not entirely sure if we would want Carl to be out in unsecured places. I'm quite sure the Italians' security would have something to say, at least. I would like you to speak to these three about that either way."

Oh, now that came in? Was he kidding her? How was she meant to make the Selection run smoothly if these new bits of information randomly came out?

"I shall do my best," Sophia replied with a smile. "Although, I must remind you that I believe it would be of value to discuss the eliminations before they happen. There are various variables to be considered and—"

"And in the end, it is still _my_ Selection," Xander _kindly_ reminded her. "I am confident that I made the right decision."

Sophia could argue now—she was well aware of that—or she could leave them over their numbers and taxes that she couldn't be bothered with. She chose the latter, and instead asked a footman on her way out, to inform Ami, Leda and Rosy that their presence was expected in her office.

The three Selected, probably from the other two's impromptu farewell meeting, arrived together, led by Leda's stern entrance. Even Sophia, a princess, needed a moment to gather herself as she invited them to sit down and opened her notes for the Italian's visit.

"I apologise for calling you here on such a short notice," she begun. "This is about the Savoys' visit, given that two members of your group are leaving tomorrow. I understand that this may be an issue, but I'm afraid, there's another one."

Leda's disdain was clear. "Another one?"

"Yes." Sophia nodded. "Have you heard about what happened in Italy?"

"No," Ami, genuine and uninformed as a princess should not be, replied. "What happened?"

"There are activists who do not want my older cousin on the throne. They planted a bomb at a place he was rumoured to be. Fortunately, he was not, but that does not mean that people did not die or were injured as a result. There are concerns on both sides that this may happen here again, even if we are doing our best to prevent it."

"How does that affect our plans?"

"Would you mind elaborating them first?"

"We want to go and visit the battlefield of Angeles again," Ami announced. "To show that…" she glanced to her other group members.

"We would like to show that we acknowledge our history," Rosy replied. "Following that, we would like to head to a reconstructed part of Los Angeles, to show the future King of Italy that we have recovered."

"It would also do very well to be filmed and released on _the Report_ ," Leda added.

Sophia nodded. "That is a lovely idea, but I'm concerned that there will be too many security risks."

"And you're telling us that we need to redo everything in about one week?" Leda deadpanned. She had all right to; Sophia would have thrown a fit if that was her.

"I am not, Xander is, actually. It's not the other two's elimination, it's what happened in Italy that is an issue." Sophia paused. "Such is life, to be honest. This can happen anytime. This is the life Ones lead, so I suppose consider this a warm welcome." Maybe that would get the blame off her.

"Are we even doing _anything_?" Ami slumped.

"As of now, I unfortunately am not sure. If you have an idea for something that is done in a space easier to be supervised and protected by the guards, then do tell, but other than that, I'm afraid not. Of course, nobody will ill judge you for it."

Leda inhaled sharply; her hidden by a tight, cold smile. "We will figure something out."

"I…" Rosy took a moment. "I may have an idea."

"Go ahead," Sophia nodded to her.

"My parents have tried to talk me into inviting His Royal Highness to a theatre piece happening during the time, the Savoys are here. It's not entirely fitting with the days, but we could do that?"

"Theatre?" Sophia repeated.

"They know the theatre's owner; they are putting on the play of a young, Illéan playwright from Bonita. Oscar Wilde."

A smile appeared on Sophia's lips. "Do go on—this sounds like a good idea."

They would only need to call into the theatre, but who would deny two royal families entrance? Only a fool would, and by the evening, Sophia had all organised. The guard knew and would cooperate with the venue to supply adequate security, and both royal families and the Selected would attend. Maybe the three didn't do as much as others, but Sophia found herself noting down Rosy's quick thinking. A reason to let her stay, she had. Now she had one to want her out. For now.

When the three girls left her, Sophia's own mountain of work hadn't exactly decreased, and she knew that she would still need to discuss the presentation and announcement of the sudden, unplanned elimination for the report with her brother. Fortunately, she had one more guest the same evening—Tessa who was coming by for tea.

"Do come in," Sophia hummed when Tessa arrived. She was a shy as always, probably hesitating whenever she should actually dare to knock on the door to the princess' office, but once she came in, her face lit up. "How are you?" Sophia asked.

"Quite well, although that elimination scared me," Tessa admitted. "I haven't even gone on a date yet, and they are gone…"

"To be frank, they weren't meant to leave until after the Italians came. Xander thought otherwise, apparently. Quite a headache in planning. How is your group doing?"

"Quite well. I think Isla updated you on what we're planning?"

"She did indeed," Sophia nodded. "I'm quite fond of it. It'll be lovely. How kind of you to consider the jetlag."

"It was Cilla's idea," Tessa excused. "She did a lot of the work as to how to deal with the press too. I wasn't very much of a help…"

"That's alright," Sophia assured her. "You are still learning."

Sophia was glad to take a seat and close her eyes for a brief moment while a servant poured them tea and brought biscuits. Today, Sophia had already chosen for them to drink rose tea and eat strawberry tarts.

"If I may ask," Tessa begun, "did you know he was planning to eliminate girls after dates? Most of us expected regular rounds…"

Sophia hesitated. "I'm not sure what he planned. Yes—he wasn't going to let anyone go until after the Italians came, but evidently, _something_ changed." She huffed. "And I get to deal with the fallout."

"That is unfair," Tessa stated. Gosh, Sophia hoped, Tessa would never ever fall for Xander. She'd miss being able to bitch about him to her.

"It's a nightmare. The second group for the visit planning—Ami, Euphrosyne and Leda—they are three when others are five to seven people strong. Then there's the Italian's political drama and I wish I could just say 'let's ignore it', but we can't…" She sighed. "And then, of course, there's Ernest who puts all that Selected screen time into _the Report_ , squeezing me, Helena and the world _we_ do into five minutes. Dreadful."

Tessa nodded. And she listened, nodded, smiled, quietly sipping her tea as Sophia went on and on about the incredibly difficult and large problems of the life of a princess like her. Such tragic days.

/ / /

 **The Palace Stables, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

The Palace Stables and the workers there already prepared the horses when Xander, Rowan, Cilla and Tessa arrived. Out of the four, Cilla was chatting freely, carefreely talking about the horses she had at home. Xander didn't mind that at all, because it kept Rowan, also talking about the animals on the farm she worked, and Tessa engaged and meant less talking for him.

"I—It's really weird that I never learned how to ride horses, right?" Cilla asked.

"You've learned a lot. You'll be fine today, as long as we don't do anything dangerous," Tessa assured her.

"I mean, I haven't done this in a year, so I support the notion of doing this slowly," Xander added on.

"Me and Tessa can race another while you two wait in the back." Rowan laughed amused. "Any particular place we are heading?"

"There's a forest behind the palace. Princess Sophia and I once went there," Tessa suggested. "It's beautiful. Maybe we can find a place for the picnic?" She gestured to the odd spot of green in the landscape of Los Angeles. The forest, part of the palace's boundaries, was young and had been made by Xander's great-grandmother. It was, nonetheless, a soft, green spot, and he did not mind.

"That sounds good to me," Rowan nodded.

"As long as the path isn't too complicated…" Cilla nodded.

"It shouldn't be," Xander assured her. "It's made for walking, but I at least remember that Louis used to ride there a lot, even when he was young and clumsy."

"I can't imagine him to be 'young and clumsy'," Rowan commented, and Xander did not miss the spite in her words. Given Rowan's origin as Seven, a farmer, it was inevitable that she held a dislike for the younger prince.

He joined the other three girls with the horses that, to Tessa's visible dismay, had already been saddled for them. That didn't stop her from checking each and every single part, and while Cilla, Xander (clumsily) and Rowan soon found themselves on the horses, Tessa took a moment to pet it.

"Hello, Snowball," she hummed at the white horse. "Are you ready to go out today?"

She must have been riding this one for a while, Xander thought as they watched Tessa almost chatting with the horse. She looked like she had forgotten their presence entirely; like a fairy of his mother's beloved fairy tales, Tessa spoke to the horse—If Xander didn't know better, he would have expected them to genuinely understand another.

"Tessa, we're also here," Cilla teased her friend. "Don't ignore us."

"What? Oh! Sorry!" Tessa turned around swiftly, and red colour shot into her cheeks. She muttered something, and quickly climbed the horse. She gestured in what Xander recognised to be the path they would take. "That way, I think…" she added, quieter.

"Then let's go!" Cilla cheered.

They began slow, telling their horses to walk, and Cilla's stories from the ranch she grew up on continued. They reached the forest when Tessa dared to pipe up about her favourite horse at home, called Ginger. Another good reason for Xander to quietly stay back and just listen, letting the girls talk.

 _One will be your wife._

Most certainly, such wasn't the best choice, but having all these girls around—even if he didn't interact with them on some days—was _exhausting_. He enjoyed their company, but it was exhausting. Hence him not chatting outright, but instead enjoying passing by the green leaves and listening to the sounds of the forest.

That was, until Cilla Chamberlain spoke up. "What about you, your highness?" she asked.

Xander glanced up. They had been speaking about their favourite music—again this topic—and apparently, now it was his turn to respond on the matter. He hesitated just like he had with the girls in the car. "I suppose, I prefer classical music most. That is definitely related to my grandmother's influence though."

"Oh, do you have a favourite piece?" Rowan asked, curious.

"I suppose, some basic piano pieces I learned when I was younger. I don't recall any names, though." He paused. When no fight about music erupted, he dared to go on. "I do like to listen to some country music, sometimes, which probably comes from my best friend refusing to listen to anything else."

"Country is great!" Cilla laughed out. "I will fight anyone who says otherwise."

"It's sad to see so many country singers going so far into pop music. I used to listen to a bunch of indie singers, but they branched into pop to gain more exposure," Rowan reminiscence. "That got me into folk music—when country always turned into pop."

Cilla sighed. "Oh, I know what you mean. The industry is always so harsh as to what you can sell…"

Of course, Cilla was a singer-songwriter focusing on country music. He should have remembered that. During that whole month he had had to prepare, he could have used the time to make sure he had listened to her music at least once… Then again, wouldn't it be odd to listen to her voice like that?

"I like country too," Tessa spoke, "although I only listen to it because Cilla made me."

"That's better than nothing!" Cilla smiled. Her smile radiated with energy. Beautiful, Xander thought. "I can teach you a bit how to play some easier pieces later on."

"Do you play an instrument?" Rowan asked. "Sorry for my ignorance, but I didn't notice."

"That's because Tessa makes me spend all my free time outside horse-riding."

"I love horses!" Tessa called out, in a futile attempt to defend herself.

"I play the guitar professionally. It's my main instrument," Cilla replied. "I love it. It can be—going by the maids, at least—terrible for your fingers but I won't give it up just for that. It's just too fun! … Is that weird? It's probably weird. Whatever."

"It's not weird," Rowan hummed. "I love playing the piano, and I wouldn't give it up for anything in the world—expect maybe Owen and Annie."

Xander nodded. "It does appear to be normal to enjoy your hobbies," he joked, and they laughed. That was, Xander liked to think, good. He was talking to them after all. "I am quite fond of my own, so…"

The conversation carried on, and Xander made a conscious effort to throw in more of his own input than just listening. Nonetheless, sooner than later, Cilla and Rowan were engaged into a conversation about music that he couldn't entirely understand—too many complicated words that made no sense to him who hadn't touched a piano in years.

"Are you alright?" Tessa, falling back to let Rowan and Cilla head first, asked. Xander himself wouldn't dare to _slow down_ a horse already walking, but Tessa looked confident enough for that.

"Yes, I am," Xander replied with a smile. "How are you doing, Lady Tessera?"

"I am well," she replied, but glanced at the horse's mane. "You looked a tad lonely here. You weren't saying much."

"I interact with people all the time for my work," Xander admitted. "It sometimes just reaches the 'this is enough' point."

Tessa chuckled to herself. She looked forward, and Xander mimicked that. "I know how that feeling. You just get tired, don't you?"

Xander nodded. "It's not the tired where you want to sleep, and it's not where you are physically tired." He knew that feeling from his time in the army. "You just want to go and be alone for a bit, but if you do that, everyone will call you rude."

"That's why I love horses," Tessa hummed. "They're just there for you, listen to you, but they don't force you to talk and just let you be quiet if you need to. It's almost therapeutic."

Maybe that was what swimming was to Xander; he just enjoyed taking the break, away from everyone else who needed him to do work and hang around him. He hadn't managed to do that in ages, unfortunately, and it did pain him.

"I see what you mean," he acknowledged nonetheless, "that is what swimming does for me."

Tessa nodded and fell to silence. Not that awkward silence that Xander had experienced more than often in the past weeks, but a comfortable one that he didn't mind; one that could continue on. They had Rowan and Cilla chat in the background, and the birds tweeting around them. The winds gently rustled through the leaves, and the horses' calm steps.

"Have you ever done swimming competitively? In any way?"

"No. Have you done that with horse-riding?"

"No. I suppose if you add competition, then it takes away the aspect of relaxing. You always want to put in effort, be the best and all. I help out at a horse ranch and I see how much focus the riders take. I feel like they barely have the time to bond with their horses on a free walk like this; they're too exhausted in the evening."

"True words," Xander agreed. He couldn't imagine swimming being more than his quiet hobby. Playing in the water—water ball, like he had done with Jaira, Nereida and Veira—was different. It wasn't that quiet moment he took for himself.

Xander leaned her head back, towards the sunrays that reached him through the leaves. Soft and warm, unlike the shadow of the leaves. He took a deep breath, and let go. Next to him, Tessa had gone silent again. That comfortable silence was lovely—something he needed, and something that comforted him from stress he hadn't even realised.

"Your family is quite stressed," Tessa pointed out.

"I suppose that comes with the life of royalty," Xander admitted back, "doesn't it?"

"Sophia—I'm a bit concerned about her sometimes," Tessa replied. "I don't think she feels like she is getting any reward out of her work anymore, and it's affecting her."

"Reward?" Xander repeated. Most certainly, he had seen Sophia's attitude change drastically, but a reward? They were royalty; this was their duty. They had been born with a right, and with that right, duties came.

"You can't do things for too long without getting something out of it. It exhausts you, and makes you bitter. It burns you out, so to say," Tessa replied. "I think that's why she's so fixed on the idea of marrying the German Crown Prince."

"You are aware of that…?" Xander asked surprised. The matter, only known to the king, his closest advisors, Sophia and the Schreave brothers, was meant to stay quiet—until it was official and both sides announced it to their court. "How come?"

"Sophia gave me titbits here and there. I often come by for tea."

"I'm glad she has made a friend."

Tessa hesitated. "I am too. She's a lovely woman, but that bitterness… It's not good for her."

"Do you have any suggestions on how to help her?" Xander asked, fully knowing that he did not have the capacity to deal with much more.

"I suppose," Tessa replied, "it's the Unrest that has taken a toll on her. She loves the idea of being a fairy tale princess, does she not? A civil war waging against her family doesn't stand with that image. I suppose that is why she yearns to move to the German Federation. They are much more stable than we are at the moment."

"We are healing," Xander replied—per force of habit. "That is a good insight though, Lady Tessera." It didn't tell him as to how he could help his sister though. The marriage between her and Frederick was nearly fully determined, but Xander had hoped Sophia to stay past the Selection—let alone because she had been so eager… "She loves the Selection, because she hoped it would bring her something, I presume."

"I don't think it does, though," Tessa replied. "It's just a source of stress."

"That is unfortunate." But it was one to Xander too, and he was the one holding it. "I'm glad to hear that she has you to rely on."

"She's someone I would admire. Strong, ready to help and defend her family. Beautiful."

Xander smiled. That was what he liked to hear about his sister. That she was the lovely, strong woman that Sophia had always aimed to be. The brave princess that Illéa needed. "She is, indeed," he agreed.

"It'll be difficult to live up to her," Tessa wondered, "Whoever wins, I mean. Large footsteps to fill."

Xander knew that. There had never been a Queen truly beloved by all people, but princesses that came close to it. Not only Sophia, but his aunt too—the people had loved her. Maybe it was a curse for the commoner girls that married into his family to always be a step behind of the princesses by blood, but Xander didn't like think that it wasn't a step impossible to fill.

"I wonder what the others think about that," Xander admitted.

"We could ask them," Tessa suggested. "Hey, Cilla? Rowan?"

The two girls, still indulged into their own conversation, turned to them, in surprise of the sudden call. Xander worried they'd fall from the horses, but thankfully, they didn't act too quick. Cilla's blonde hair, the hair that fell down beneath her riding helmet.

"What's up?" she called with crystal clear voice.

"We were discussing that one of us would fill the footsteps of Princess Sophia," Tessa explained. "What do you think of that?"

Cilla pursed her lips, her hands and eyes stern on the horse tack. At least Xander wasn't alone in his inexperience with horses. "I never thought of that that way. We are all our own people, I doubt anyone would fill her position the way she does, you know?"

Rowan agreed. "Besides that, she isn't going anywhere, isn't she?"

That, at least, was what people were meant to assume right now. Xander was all too well aware, though, the people of Illéa were aware of the recent practises of marriage to the royals. His aunt and uncle had married foreign royalty, and so had his grandfather's sister, and they all knew of that failed attempt of Jackson Illéa and the ever-doomed Illéa-Windsor marriages…

"Is she going to marry a foreign prince?" Rowan asked after a moment of silence. "That is the tradition, isn't it?"

"What about Prince Ernest and Prince Louis?" Cilla added on, with genuine curiosity and none of Rowan's scrutiny. "What about Princess Victoria?"

"I don't know what the future holds," Xander replied diplomatically. He did not; who knew what Ernest would do with the Selection—and if the sparks that the siblings believed to have seen in the past made a fire.

"That's a very vague answer," Rowan deadpanned. "You must be more detailed, Your Highness."

"Surely, there is something you know."

"I insist," Rowan added on.

He couldn't lie to them here and risk to ruin any chances on an honest relationship he would have to either of them, but at the same point—if he eliminated them before anything was decided, and they _talked_ , then it could ruin the trust another nation had in Illéa.

"You must understand," Xander chose to say, "that there may be things—be it on this topic or others—that I cannot talk openly about; not without risking Illéa's prosperity."

Rowan, a stubborn one, would not take that easily. She bit on her lip, evidently looking for something to counter with, but she didn't. They continued their ride, and Xander was glad that she wasn't going to inquire about anything further.

As they headed on, she made sure to end up next to Xander, and he did not miss that. Maybe that provocation wasn't bad, though, he thought—especially with his avoidance of confronting the girls on their own.

"I really cannot say much more," Xander apologised.

"Hmhm." Rowan nodded. "We'll see about that."

"There are some things that are saver when secret."

"Are there? Shouldn't the people of Illéa know what's going on in their life? Is it fair to manipulate it without even telling them?" Rowan stabbed.

There was more to that. Rowan, with no knowledge of the court, revealed that. Too specific—nobody had said anything about manipulating people's life. If even, it only related to one girl that would end up marrying his brothers, and Sophia's marriage.

"What are you referring to?" Xander asked her; this wasn't the backstabbing court politics, he reminded himself, this was the Selection and he was meant to marry one of them. He needed to be fair, at least, he told himself. This was why. He totally wasn't concerned about Project Omega. Totally not. "Nobody mentioned manipulation of the people."

Red colour shot into Rowan's face. "I—"

"What are you referring to?" he asked. Rowan was too close to the last one, he told himself, to let this go unnoticed. Not when it meant a possible help. Plus, talking about Sophia reminded him of helping his people.

"Where I live," Rowan begun, "people talk about that a neighbouring town was a result of government actions. Secretive ones. I assume if that was true, then it were tests. The people wouldn't have known—we didn't—and it affected all kinds of places as a result. Leda said that her boss' car broke down and…" she trailed off. Clearly, she had heard too many rumours to put everything into one working idea.

Project Omega tests. He had been right. To be fair, though, the people testing it had been told.

"Those are conspiracies." If he couldn't risk the other girls' trust just a minute ago, then now he couldn't risk Project Omega going wrong. He couldn't undo the work of generations of Illéas for a flirt. He was a hypocrite, but details.

"I've seen the effects, though. Suddenly, the farms of people around that town emptied, and the food prices rose because it was harvest time, and they had nobody to farm. Something must have happened."

Xander bit on his lip; he knew he couldn't just wave it off to be Project Omega, and Rowan probably had more points than just this to point out the effects of that _failed_ experiment. If Rowan was just a Seven working on a farm, then her ability to connect the dots was certainly impressing, he noted though. Not knowing how much of that had been Leda Conner, her friend, meant Xander had to wait to judge her fully.

That being said, her courage to bring this up was admirable. Not even advisors had dared to talk to his father about this at times, Xander remembered Adrian saying.

He had to end this topic, because this was nothing the royal family wanted out there until they had completed the project. "Project Omega has always been more of a bane then boon," Xander muttered to himself. There were enough reasons to discontinue it, even if Xander wanted it to work… Meant to stop the Unrest from happening, it had fuelled it. That alone was a point against it.

"Project what?" Rowan repeated. "So, there was something?"

"It was an economic concept developed by grandfather near the end of his reign, and it could be that it had been implemented there," Xander replied, repeating the white lie that they had told many advisors.

"So, there had been a secret test."

"Not secret, everyone knew."

"Testing what?"

"It's really nothing you should be concerned about." In summary, Xander sucked at keeping to an idea. Maybe he was a tad too tired too, he reasoned. Not good, but he'd be able to sleep tonight, so it would work out. He just needed to get past Rowan's scepticism.

"I'm a concerned citizen," Rowan pointed out.

"And I'm a concerned politician. There are things better not discussed fully, because of the consequences it may have."

"But your _experiment_ ended up affecting the economy of the whole country!"

"That is a misconception," Xander replied. "One small town cannot drag down a country as vast as Illéa. It may have affected the province a little bit, but at the grand scale, it's unlikely."

"Then how about the whole economic depression going on?"

"The downwards spiral of the economy is the past."

Rowan hesitated. She had picked up that from Leda, Xander concluded. "A thing that affected countless people's live."

"There were more reasons that just that single project that led to that economic depression."

"Such as?"

"Do you really want to go into that now? I'm quite sure you'll end up studying that in your classes." Xander hoped, that that at least would convince Rowan to stop.

In the brunette's face, he could indeed see the gear wheels turning. She glanced to the other two girls, and nodded. "Maybe Leda can explain it to me." He did not miss the bitterness in her voice, though.

With that conversation ended, Xander made sure to join the other two girls too, and they finally reached the small glade in the forest where they planned the picnic to be. The glade used to be a place Lysandre Illéa took the siblings and their father for family lunches, when the King's work consumed all of his time again, and she needed a reason to get him out of the palace. Xander smiled at that memory.

"It's beautiful here!" Cilla sing-sung. Tessa, kind as always, had moved to putting out the picnic blanket already, and Rowan had moved to helping her. Maybe she was used to that, given her younger siblings.

"It is indeed."

"You can even hear the birds, now, without the city sounds. It's just like at home!" she added on, overjoyed.

Xander paused; he hadn't considered that but indeed, the omnipresent city sounds were gone. Merely the wind in the leaves and the birds were left. "Is it?" Xander asked Cilla.

"The earth has music for those who listen," Cilla spoke. "That's a Shakespeare quote. It's true, isn't it?"

His mother would quite like that. "It is," Xander agreed. "Do you like Shakespeare?"

"I don't know a lot about him; I just know this quote. I agree with it. Sitting in the garden, the fields or forest is a great way to find inspiration for music." She sighed, and looked down. "If I can use that, it is…"

"If you can use what?"

"The music I write then. Unfortunately, in the Unrest, the producers were very wary as to what would be allowed to be published." She dropped on a patch of grass, ignorant of the dirt below. Cilla crossed her legs, and picked up a flower. A daisy, to be exact. "They were always concerned about whenever it would sell well. If the reception wouldn't be the 'wrong kind'," she quoted.

"The wrong kind?"

"Do you know how some music written during the Unrest became anthems to the rioters?" Cilla asked. She didn't call the rebels 'rebels', but rioters, Xander noticed. She spoke with words of the government propaganda; they had sent against them. "That was their greatest fear. No matter what you say, that my creations would be turned against what I stand for."

"I see," Xander nodded.

"What I could release was so limited…" She glanced to the flower patch wistfully. "I suppose it's good; they aren't turning my work against me, but I cannot help but…" she broke off.

"But?"

"I would love to be known for the music I want to make, not the music I make because it's my duty. My last album didn't do well either—and I'm fairly sure it's because the songs I wrote weren't what I wanted to sing about."

"Which was?"

"How terrible the rioters and terrorist were. How I wanted Illéa to be peaceful again. I agree with it but… music is an escape, isn't it?"

Xander agreed. While he sat down on a blanket, he joined her there. "It is indeed."

"You mentioned that you play the piano," Cilla remembered.

The prince tilted his head. "It's not entirely true, I should add. I learned it when I was younger, because my grandmother insisted on it, and for once, my mother agreed with her, but by no means does that mean I even remember where the middle C is."

Cilla chuckled. "Usually in the middle," she teased.

"Victoria though—I see that music is an escape for her."

"Princess Victoria…?" Cilla's eyes grew big.

"For a while, it was the only that we heard from her; other than her violin, she hid in her room. I didn't—I still don't—have a lot time to go and see her, but hearing her play again reminded us all that she was back."

"She's gotten better though, hasn't she?" Cilla asked—much less confident than both liked her to be.

"She has," Xander agreed. "She's been coming to work meetings with me all the time."

Cilla leaned back, looking at the cloudless sky between the leaves and twigs above them. "I suppose, knowing about the people hurt by the Unrest was the reason I ended up going through with the album in the first place. I thought a lot about waiting for it to be over, because I just couldn't stand the constant reminder, but then, here I am, knowing that there are people hurt much more than me…"

Was there much Xander could say to that, as Crown Prince of Illéa, the literal embodiment of what the rebels wanted to get rid off? No, he did not believe so. "I do admire you for going through with it. It takes effort."

Cilla smiled. "Thank you, your highness."

"You're welcome."

"Did you know that it was your mother's idea that prompted the industry's opinion?" Cilla asked. "After _The Red Herring_ was released, many people turned it into a 'look at how terrible the royal family and its rules are', when it was meant to be LGBT representation. It was meant to stand for other things! She didn't want to see the hard work to be given wrong reputation."

"I do," Xander nodded. "I remember her being concerned that it would happen to Abby. She felt guilty for it. Blamed herself."

Cilla nodded. A Two, just like his mother, she probably understood her better than any other Selected. "It must have been hard for her. She didn't deserve all that hatred."

"I agree," Xander admitted, joining her on his back. The sky, blue as the sea, peaked through the twigs like children hiding in the bushes. Xander understood why she was looking at it. It was good to know that Cilla understood him and his family. Very good to know.

"Is Angeles very different from your home?" Xander asked. He knew Carolina to be different, he had been there, but he wanted to hear it from Cilla herself.

"Definitely. Each province has their unique charm, I like to think. Have you been to the Sioux Falls in Dakota? They are beautiful."

Their conversation kept on going for a while, and if Xander had to rate this date, then he knew that each of the girls would most certainly stay for a while. Tessa was too kind to be left out, Cilla too understanding and Rowan's critical thinking was something, Illéa needed. Even with Irina, Xander felt confident that this would work out—even if soon, girls would need to leave.

/ / /

 **Sophia's Office in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Sophia of Illéa**

 _At young age, Sophia Illéa despised fairy tales. It wasn't the fairies, knights and dragons that threatened her, or her mother's grand enthusiasm to read them to her when Xander and Ernest had long gone to falling asleep in boredom, or the suggestion that she was to be saved by a knight in shining armour. She didn't mind her mother, coming in after tiring days as princess, then queen, of a country and spending time with her little darling, or her father checking in on her when she had fallen asleep._

 _It was the idea of fairy tales. Sophia didn't believe it from the very first wait. Once Upon A Time, in a palace filled with magic and wonderful things, in an endless forest on a meadow of flowers, they'd say. Sophia lived in a palace, and she was quite confident into the matter—none of the castles and palaces she had been to had been anyhow similar to these mystical places._

 _If Sophia listened, she didn't hear the birds tweet, but the cars honk on the roads of Los Angeles. She wasn't surrounded by endless forests and flower meadows, no matter how fond her father was of his rose gardens. There was a city, with skyscrapers, smoke and air pollution._

 _Los Angeles was the dream of many, but it was never her fairy tale. It was far from it._

 _So, when Sophia overheard her dear father and mother talking one night, almost fighting over a subject whose consequences she then did not understand, she was glad to hear her mother to be on her side._

" _We are not sending our daughter to marry a stranger. She is four; there is no reason to discuss this now," mother had said, indignant. They never fought, and back then, it scared little Sophy—why would mother and father fight over her?_

 _Father had replied, "Lys, this is how things work. Amelie is happy in Italy, I'm sure—"_

" _She is four!"_

 _The conversation had gone on and on, encompassing words that the four years old princess did not yet understood, but she heard what her father said, that they were in need of a strong alliance with economic powers, and what mother said, that she was merely four years old._

 _Not too soon after that day, with mother and father again happy, she would accompany them to Europe, for a trip for work, as father said, and some sightseeing, as mother said. She had come along not because she liked their idea of marrying a stranger, but because she was a good-behaved daughter._

 _In the German Federation, Sophia found her fairy tale. Reaching out of a hill, like a flower towards the sun, Neuschwanstein Castle was the picture-perfect idealisation of these fairy tales. White stone, towers coming straight from Disney, a palace made for a princess of fairy tales. Symmetrical to the smallest inch, with limestone courts and a roof cornice surrounded by pinnacles. Little Sophia could, then, not describe the touching palace, but she knew that this was where she belonged._

 _The German Crown Prince, mere two years older than her, then, became her Prince Charming, of course. She was Cinderella, waiting to meet her prince. Waiting to dance and live her happily ever after. Sophia continued to visit the German court, discovering all these countless fairy tale castles the country hid away from her, one by one._

 _However, Sophia Illéa was also very well aware of the fact that for this happily ever after to become reality, she needed to work. And so, at age four, Sophia became determinant for her fairy tale to happen, and she was willing to work for it. She_ would _be the picture-perfect princess that you would die to see, beloved by her own people and foreigners alike. She smiled, waved and knew that her happily ever after would come to be._

 _Sophia believed in love. She had seen her grandparents, and her dear mother and father. She had seen the love of friends, and the way little Veira sometimes looked at her brother. Sophia knew that there were many forms of love, from what Ernest did before the war got too bad and she left for Waverly, to the loving smile of her mother. That was why, when reading the early letters of her Prince Charming, Sophia knew that she was in love._

 _A love built over so many years, by trusting secrets and dreams, experiences and desires to a stranger across the pond. The fluttering of her heart when the maids informed her that a letter had arrived—always letters, never calls because such was courtship. The desire for the rare days when she would be allowed to travel to Europe, to see him and continue the conversations of their letters in person… Sophia knew love from a very young age._

 _Maybe it was that effort that she put in, every single day of her life, that made the war so terrible. All that she had worked for crumbled apart, because of reasons she couldn't control. Had she not done enough; she would wonder._

 _In these dark years, her Prince Charming became a knight in shining armour. A knight who would save her sooner than later. They wrote to another, just like they had come over these countless years, and despite that closeness they had, she learned that these wars meant that just maybe, Sophia wasn't the picture-perfect princess his court would want. Because of a stain in the landscape behind her._

Maybe that was why now, she couldn't help but be bitter, when she looked at the photos of her in front of these fairy tale castles, walking through roads with a history that she would someday belong to—one that reached so much further than her own country's did.

She was old now, she often thought, old enough to start her happily ever after. Sure, there was a point in letting her brother find his first, but unlike all of them—even Victoria—she had worked her whole life for it. Now that even her own little mistakes came under the scrutiny of that court she wanted to belong to so badly—Sophia sighed. She didn't like this.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered to herself, glaring at the yet unanswered letter. "I can only hope that things will go alright."

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **'Project Omega' was referenced again; for those curious, look back at chapter 13.**

 **I hope you're all doing well! We're back with Fallout, after a few Ground Zero updates. I'm working on Fallout for Camp NaNo, and I'm proud to say that I've finished another arc! You can find a poll referencing to that on my profile; I'm curious about who you'd think would/should be the people's favourite in Fallout; who knows, it might affect some things... I'm also curious-who's still reading? Please let me know; I wanna know who's kept on going until now!**

 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you think; I look forward to reading reviews!**


	40. Chapter 39

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Xander had a date with Cilla, Tessa and Rowan. In Tessa, he finds a kindred soul that cares about Illéa and his sister who is over and done with things. In Rowan, he finds a critical thinker that questions the machinations of Project Omega, and in Cilla, he finds a understanding as to who his mother was._

 **Chapter 39**

»A challenge I am willing to accept«

 **The Grand Hall of the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Irina Cavanah**

The palace was buzzing with energy. Irina doubted that the centre of Illéa's government would ever entirely calm down, but today—even with the Selection going on—it wasn't 'normal'; soon, the Italian delegation would touch down in Los Angeles. Everything had to be perfect.

There still were variables in her group's plan, such as whenever the King would be present or not, but Irina liked to think that most things were going well. She glanced to Xander, who had come in with Abby and Louis following. Strange for him to show up, she noted. He looked much more rested than usual. Irina had insisted he'd rest—he was dedicating the next days fully to the Italian's visit.

"I'm surprised," Louis Illéa admitted to no one in particular.

Irina didn't mean to pry, but they were close enough, and she could still hear them, despite the staff preparing the grand hall for tonight's banquet. She considered moving away, but no—if this was about the evening or anything else, such as the Selection, then she needed to hear it. Irina Cavanah did not like Xander's mood after the last date. She wasn't jealous, just unhappy with it!

"About what?" Abby Moon asked.

Irina straightened her posture. Abby wasn't involved into the visit, as far as she knew. There was no reason for to be here, unless she was judging the girls work.

"Sophia. Have you seen her this morning? She is taking it much more seriously. She doesn't allow _any_ missteps."

"I'm glad that she is back to her old self," Xander said aside.

"Are you sure it's not related to the German court's response to her work here?"

" _Absolutely not_ ," Xander replied. The sarcasm wasn't intended. Xander wasn't the type to divert to such manners. But Irina and Louis caught it.

 _How much does Abby know about the German court and Sophia's relationship?_ Irina wondered. _What does it mean for the Selection? I should ask Xander. I have the right to know._

"I'm surprised you are here, to be honest," Xander told Louis.

Louis' expression hardened. "I look forward to seeing Amelie and Luigi again. It's been a while."

"That is true." Xander nodded. He noticed her, and smiled. "Do excuse me."

She smiled too. He'd brush it off as checking in on all of the Selected, later on, but she knew what it meant and she knew that it showed what they had. She was the first he spoke to. "Your Highness," she spoke and curtsied.

"Lady Irina," and Xander smiled too, "how are the preparations going?"

"Very well. Lady Pricilla and Lady Tessera are currently organising the arrival of the journalists. Lady Sawyer and Lady Isla are going through the tour, and we others are assuring that all is prepared well," she reported.

"You do have the hardest task," Xander admitted. "You are the first to go on."

"A challenge I am willing to accept," Irina hummed. "How are you doing? Excited to see your family?"

"Yes, I am. I'll be good to see them. It's been a while."

He wasn't, or so Irina presumed, as close to the Savoys as his other siblings were, but he surely appreciated their visit, didn't he? They spoke about the art tour that the girls had planned and introducing Amelie to the Selected, about the courses they had chosen in an attempt to both showcase the wide range of Illéan cuisine and include the Italian's, and what the other groups had been planning.

The Italians arrived, and Irina, concerned about the nine-hour jet lag—it was late evening in Europe already—to be unreasoned; the Savoys had either prepared, were used to it or good at pretending that all was alright.

The Illéan court, with the royal family, various ministers and dignitaries, a few other major politicians, figures of importance, and the Selected behind them were waiting outside the Palace, in the warmth of the Los Angeles sun, and afternoon wear. They would change later on; a waste of time Irina thought, but such was protocol.

With the Royal Guard of Honour—Irina could see Evan and was proud of that—lined up by the side, Irina in the back watched the procession carefully. The Italian royal family would arrive by car from the airport any minute now, and with the King nowhere to be seen, all of the Selected were left to assume that Illéa's monarch wouldn't host this 'state visit'. It would be Xander. Irina didn't dare to show her dismay—not when there were enough cameras to film every single girl's face. She trusted Xander, but she knew the toll it took.

Accompanied by the Italian ambassador to Illéa

"I wonder if the Queen Mother is coming," Sawyer whispered next to Irina.

Irina hadn't thought of that. Helena _was_ Amelie's mother; surely, she would come to see her daughter, wouldn't she? Yet, the Queen Mother was currently touring Illéa with her charity concerts; they would most likely miss another… Such planning showed that in the end, Sophia hadn't done her best.

"She is in Panama right now," Deylin whispered back.

The black limousine, equipped with the Italian flags, arrived on the palace grounds, and with the arrival of the Italians, the military march band began playing a piece of music. As she watched the coordination behind the arrival, she was glad that this hadn't fallen into the girls' hands.

A footman of the Illéans arrived to open the doors for the King and Queen of Italy, who smiled. Amelie was most certainly beautiful, and her steps out of the car, behind her beaming husband, caught the eyes of all girls.

From her place, she could barely hear Xander greeting the foreign royals, accompanied by their delegation. From her lessons, she knew to expect, besides the two Italian princes, their foreign minister, the Italian ambassador to Illéa, and representatives of trade organisations. On her own country's side, she could see Xander, Sophia, the cabinet and Jonathan Wilde, the royal siblings' grandfather and designated to represent the Illéan defence forces.

The girls had to remain quiet, stand tall and listen in—already, Irina could see Kate and Ami giggling from the edge of her vision. Although Nereida's calmness surprised her, she chose to assume it was because of her occupation as ballerina. She probably was used to waiting for her parts. Irina envied her for that patience; she wanted to be closer to the front! Hear what was going on! Talk too!

The anthem ended, and in exchange, the Royal Salute Battery—a name Irina had studied in the lessons—began firing twenty-one rounds, given that Carlos IV was the head of state. She glanced to Minnie, who, next to Sawyer, was holding her ears closed. _Poor girl_ , Irina thought. She knew, too. Minnie only stopped shaking when the Illéan anthem reached its end.

She watched as Xander and Carlos moved to 'inspect the guard of honour', with more music in the background.

"How long do you think will this take?" Deylin wondered, next to her.

"As long as it takes," Irina whispered back, hoping to remind Deylin to be quiet. That being said, her feet weren't taking the heels very well. She therefore understood Deylin sighing when the file and drum corps began marching. As important as showing respect to their guests, it took its sweet time.

"Your Majesties, members of the Italian delegation," Xander nodded to Carlos, by his side, and Amelie close nearby, "on behalf of all of the Illéan people, I welcome you to our country and home. I am glad to see that the ties we have made over the years are as strong as ever, and I am glad that since peace has returned to our lands, you are the first to come here once more. Our relationship is one with a long history, and I am glad to see, today, it continues."

Insert mandatory applause. Like the other Selected, Irina politely joined the applause.

"I am also glad to see members of my family here again. It's been a while, and I am confident to say," he glanced at his siblings, "that we all have missed you. The never-ending support of these bonds is a source of strength for all of us. I am glad to know that you, my dear uncle, are here to share your experience and knowledge with us. To have my extended family here during this time of change is important, not only to me but all involved."

Another round of applause.

"In times as ours, it is important to find common grounds and work from there, to work together in our shared ideals. Our countries' history has spanned for longer than I have been alive. Your country is one with a history ranging back longer than we can imagine. Your country is well known for influencing much of modern history with their inventions and discoveries, but so have the people that lived in these lands long before we begun to call it Illéa. The ancient people living long before us have paved a road for us on which we continue to walk, and as leader s of our time, it is our duty to continue on this path.

"Today is about reconciling. Planning. The future is ours to take. Over the past decades, our countries have met many times. I have admired what we have achieved in the past, and I hope that from today on, we can do even more. By combining our knowledge and talents, we can achieve a brighter better future.

"With that, I am glad to welcome you here once more. I hope to see our two beautiful nations to continue to achieve high in the future. Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses, members of the Italian delegation, may Illéa be a home to you for as long as you stay with us," Xander finished. He stepped aside for the foreign King.

Another round of applause.

"Thank you for your warm welcome, Your Royal Highness," Carlos, with the ease of an established and experience speaker, began. "It's good to see this beautiful country healing, and I am honoured to be here, once more, after such a long time. I bring greetings of my country, the Kingdom of Italy."

Another round of applause.

"There may be distance between us, but in times as such, this should never stop our shared values of advancing our both countries further. Illéa and Italy are the first countries I think of when looking at the beautiful fine arts. Especially given mankind's history, it is a treasure that we protect and continue to support. The arts are what drive our mind further, lead to a better, stronger and more developed society; something our both countries aim to achieve. But enough of personal passions."

Another round of applause, mixed with the occasional chuckle.

"Our relationship began when, after years of silence, Illéa extended a hand to us. I very much remember hearing stories about the lovely receptions your grandfather's Selected created for my people, despite their inexperience. We formed a bond, then, that I like to consider to be ever-lasting. I admire your country's willingness to embrace the unique ideas of your people."

Another round of applause.

"There is no denial that recent years may have put a strain on our relationship, but it is clear that in these recent years, we have proven to be stronger than any such strain. Amidst dark times of terrorism and chaos, we have continued to support another."

Another round of applause. Irina stretched her fingers, noticed some girls shifting. Carlos touching the Unrest—none had expected him to do so. It was a sour topic in Illéa; turning it into a symbol of a strong relationship was a daring task. That, of course, and Italy's own, more recent problems.

"Has Italy supported us in the Unrest?" Sawyer muttered. "When?"

"They did through resources. Without them, rebuilding the AirForce as fast as this wouldn't have been possible," Irina explained hushed. They had gone through that in their classes. "We had to start from nothing."

Carlos continued. "What we can do together, by combining our strengths may still exceed what we imagine. I hope that together, we may strive for a future of peace, prosperity and advancement.

"We have come, both as family and fellow leaders in this world. We have come in order to help another become a stronger, better country, and to take the hand of support we offer another. We have come in peace, knowing that this, too, is a place where people prosper. Thank you very much for your kind invitation, Your Royal Highness."

Another, final round of applause. Camera flashes. Relieved sighs among the girls. After the progression of the two countries' delegation, they were to leave. Irina, despite despising it, felt relief too. She could stand to attention in the army without issue, but politics—she wanted to be closer to the speeches, say something too. She wouldn't stand mute, as prop in the background.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what she had done today.

"I'm never going to wear heels again, after this," she heard Ami mutter.

"I agree," Rowan added on. "My feet are killing me."

"It's going to be one _long_ evening," Isla added on, bitter.

Now with the procession heading inside, Irina recognised the luncheon to be next. For the Selected, that meant heading to the Women's Room and eat there—they, as Rowan had joked when discussing this day, weren't invited. The royal families headed to the Blue Parlour that Irina hadn't ever even entered, she and the other girls headed to the good old women's room. There, Irina sat with her group and the other girls and ate lunch almost as usual. Of course, though, even Irina couldn't miss that curious chatter among them.

All attention moved to the door when it opened. Given; no one was expecting anyone else to join them, besides her own group's planned 'let's tour the Italian king and queen through the palace' and check up on the newest art pieces, set for later today, nobody expected anyone to appear. Not even a servant—and they did not use the large winged door. Amelie and Louis came in, quietly speaking as the footmen opened them.

"I wasn't aware they were joining us…?" Isla whispered bitter. Probably Louis. Likely Louis.

"I doubt _he_ would ever join us," Sawyer added on.

Cilla sighed. "Come on, what has he done to hurt you?"

"Do you really want this discussion to start?" Isla hushed.

"He was a child," Cilla remarked. "At that age, I didn't even know what the caste system was."

"Are you a princess?" she shot back. "No. You'd expect him to know that."

"He is third in line to the throne. There's no way he'll be king."

"We went through a war that killed the Queen," Sawyer pointed out.

Irina frowned, and instead, returned her attention to the Italian Queen, who took a seat not far away from them. _Thank god_ , she thought, when the discussion around her faded away. She missed Andreia, who sat at the other end of the table with her group, already.

"Good afternoon, ladies. I hope you don't mind us joining," Amelie began.

"Of course not," Isla hummed back. "We didn't expect you to join us, Your Majesty."

"A spur of the moment decision, prompted by my nephew." Amelie's English, despite its formality, had the same Angeles accent as Sophia had.

"Do excuse me, aunt, I will—" Prince Louis began, but Amelie waved him off.

"Oh, do stay, Louis. I'm sure the girls won't bite."

Louis smile was polite, but this already seemed to be more time than the girls had spent with the prince in the rest of the month. "I understand your interest in the Selection. I would only bother."

"I insist you stay," Amelie replied.

"I—" Louis broke off, and straightened his back. "As you wish."

None of the girls, as Irina concluded, had seen a lot of the youngest prince, but his reputation proceeded him. _Don't judge him by that_ , Irina reminded herself. After all, she wanted to win—the throne and Xander's heart. Judging his brother on childhood minheaps was wrong. Even if she remembered it well.

"I still remember my brother's Selection," Amelie remembered. "I was young too, and spent all the time I could with the girls. I wished he wouldn't let any go; everyone was lovely. I can't believe time has flown so fast…" She shook her head. "Do feel free to ask my any questions. I can only imagine how many the girls during my time had. I see no reason to lie to you. One of you will be part of my family too, I like to think."

"It must be interesting to see the Selection happen for His Majesty," Leila agreed.

Amelie chuckled. "Oh, it was a unique experience. I always wanted him to do this and that, but he was so busy listening to everyone… I don't think he ever took in what I said."

"Oh?" Harriet leaned forward. "Do tell, please."

Amelie laughed amused. "For once, there was that girl that kept on causing drama, because she had to stand out. Terrible, I tell you. She behaved as if she owned the world, even with me around. Old money does that to you, sometimes." Leila's huff didn't go unmissed, but if Amelie understood that rivalry between her and Harriet, then she let it go unnoticed. "She kept on picking on Lys for being a gold digger. There were girls who genuinely were that—Lys wasn't. It was obvious that she envied her."

"What do you mean?" Harriet inquired.

"She liked to claim that Lys was only in the Selection for the title. Maybe for the fame and money too, you get the deal. It was quite unfortunate to watch that unfold, because so many people started believing it."

"So, you do not agree?" Rowan asked.

"No, not at all. Not when she had just starred in a successful movie and was expected to do better in the future. When mother insisted on that being true and Lys being an adequate choice for him, Adrian threatened to renounce his titles and leave the family, even, and Lys, who had resigned to not being able to be with him, cried out of happiness. She really loved him. I think, at best, she was the naïve child that believed she would find an unhindered fairy tale in the Selection."

"Are you implying that that wasn't the case?" Tessa wondered.

"I like to think that this 'fairy tale' romance thing is an idea that there is nothing stopping your love story. I am glad to say that mine turned into that. Never did anyone stop me from marrying Carlos. I wished to marry into European royalty, let alone because of the art history of the country, and from young age on, Carlos was a gentleman I couldn't miss." She paused. "As for my brother and Lys, no doubt, there were obstacles."

"Such as?" Harriet kept on asking.

"There is no doubt that the people always disliked Lys, for a reason I cannot understand. I still believe someone on the _Report_ team had something against her. Looking at the footage—the person they showed there wasn't the girl I met."

"That is unfortunate…" Tessa paused. "Is that happening to any of us?"

Amelie glanced over the twenty-three Selected. Next to her, Louis Illéa had been so quiet that Irina had forgotten his presence altogether. Now, though, he moved to the side. "Nereida Statten seems to be my brother's favourite to interview," he remarked amused. Nereida was out of reach for him to hear, but knowing her, Irina doubted she would care.

"Oh, yes, that is true. I caught up on the last Reports, and she _does_ appear rather frequently. If you, it's the opposite of what happened with Lys. She appeared rarely and if, then it was taken out of context. Evil edited, I kept saying."

"… Do you think that'll happen to any of us?" Blair glanced around.

"I think Ernest is interested in putting up a good show," Louis analysed. "If that means he needs an antagonist, he will take that, but as of now, it's running itself well enough, I suppose."

"There have only been about four weeks of Report material, though," Amelie worried. "I doubt Ernest would do something like that, though. He knows what happened to your mother, after all. Surely, he wouldn't wish that to anyone else."

"He seemed friendly enough when we spoke," Blair remembered.

"He did, yeah," Minnie nodded. "I felt like he made sure we'd be ourselves on the video."

Amelie nodded. "I do hope he does that."

Irina made a mental note to ask Xander about that—though, she realised, he probably was busy with foreign politics. Later, she decided. She could ask him later. Instead, she continued to hang on Amelie's lips as she told stories of Adrian Illéa's Selection. Xander was not his father—thank god—but that didn't mean that she couldn't learn a thing or two.

When the time finally came for her group to take the King and the Queen on the tour of the newer palace art pieces, Amelie and Carlos—thankfully—were both enthusiastic. Given the Unrest and the short period of seven years without the Italians visiting Illéa, not an entire museum had been added, but Cilla had found something to add elsewise—the gardens. They were recovering from the Unrest too; an ideal symbol.

"It is always great to see young women interested in arts," Carlos remarked freely as they made their way towards the garden. They had passed the arts of which Irina had memories too many facts already, and until then, their conversation had been about arts.

A waste of time, when there was more important things to do, Irina thought.

"I must admit," Carlos pointed out, "Amelie, you are truly right. The Illéan Selection is fascinating. Such unique women, we should do that too."

"I'm not so sure if the country would like that," his wife worried, "although I must admit, it would do Carl well. I'm sure he would enjoy it."

"What do you think? Be frank, please," the King asked the girls.

The two Selected from her team that Irina had interacted least with begun, granting her sweet time to think about her own response. Carlos may wanted them to be frank, but was that the right way? Surely, making good relationships with the Italians was important too… Sloth Girl—as she had been dubbed—and Economy—what creative naming her parents had done—went first. They paved the way, and Irina did respect them, but their responses came down to 'love the clothes and palace, great experience, I hope I'll win'.

"I believe," Irina began once they had stopped, "that it's the perfect opportunity for young women with amazing ideas on how to improve the country to be given a platform. Your Majesty, you spoke about working together for a better future. That doesn't only apply to countries, but to the Selection as well. To be frank, I doubt that some of us here would, otherwise, be given the chance to speak up in such a recognisable way."

Isla nodded. "Lady Irina is right. I lived in a ghost town. I could have never spoken up as to how I feel about that if it hadn't been for the Selection. I am, _of course_ , honoured to partake. It's the _chance of a lifetime_ , as people say."

"I do wonder though, how likely it is that you find real love in it," Cilla pointed out. "It does feel artificial to me, and—"

Carlos laughed out. "What do _you_ think of Xander?"

"When I had a date with him, even in the group, he felt very much genuine to me. I appreciate that, but," she paused, "I suppose a bit shy? One against thirty-five. That's intimidating."

"Ah, true. I suppose you could pre-screen the girls?" the King suggested.

"Can you 'screen' for love?" Sawyer frowned. "It's interesting and different for sure, but can love work under the eyes of the whole nation?"

Amelie titled her head. "Xander brought that upon himself. During my brother's Selection, they didn't take video recordings of dates at all—only occasional photos and interviews around it. They filmed the lessons, but it was much more restrained."

"Why isn't he doing that?" Tessa wondered. "That would make it much easier…"

"Didn't you guys get filmed with a drone?" Isla remembered. Cilla and Tessa nodded.

"I think he wants to show us to the people, and, so to say, get their input. The winner will be their queen; it affects them just as much," Irina explained. "He is listening to his people."

"That's admirable," Tessa agreed. "I like the Selection. I still can't really gasp that I'm here sometimes…"

They reached the Palace Gardens. They discussed flowers. They discussed the differences in art style between Illéa and Italy. They discussed poetry. Irina liked to think that she did well when the royal couple retreated to prepare for the banquet.

Irina headed right up the stairs, to her room. The other girls had started to change for tonight's banquet already, and even if Irina was aware that it wouldn't take as much today as for the masquerade organised for the final evening of the Italian's visit, that didn't mean she didn't want to look adequate. Even if she preferred sneakers to heels, she knew what made the right impression she had to make. A politician didn't appear in military dress—Irina needed to make an impression. Prove she wasn't some modest, quiet girl, but a leader.

On her way, though, or rather waiting in front of her room, she found a familiar face waiting for her. To her disappointment, it wasn't Xander though, but her beloved brother, Evan. "Irina!" he called out when he recognised her. "Feet already dying?"

"I can handle," she replied. "Jealous of my heels?"

"I would hand in my resignation the day they make us wear them," Evan shot back. "How was your day?"

"Very good, thank you. How was yours?"

"Boring," Evan huffed. "Now, I'm much more curious in what is going on otherwise, though. Have you spoken to Xander?"

Heat shot into Irina's face. Her hand froze above the doorknob for a moment. "Pardon me?"

"You were going to talk to Xander about your relationship problems."

"There were no _relationship problems_. That's a waste of time."

"You looked quite irritated the other day."

Irina opened the door and headed through. She took a seat on the couch, took off the nasty heals. "I was not. Are you at the banquet tonight working?"

"Irina, I'm your brother. I know you're changing the topic." He rolled his eyes and dropped onto the same couch. "Also, no. I'm not. Thankfully. I hope I'll get to get some leftovers though. The kitchen smelt heavenly. Whatever your group chose, I want it too."

"Too be," Irina replied with a hum.

"Did you talk to him? Or were you too afraid?" Evan played her.

"I was _not_ afraid of talking to Xander. And yes, I did speak to him. As I said, there were no problems. I can assure you that."

"Did you tell him you like him?"

"What—?! I don't—I mean…" She glanced aside, to the window or anything that would work. "There is nothing—"

"I can ask Xander too. It's weird enough that you're one of his thirty-five girlfriends. Might as well just be honest about it," Evan shrugged.

Evan asking Xander about that conversation? Evan talking to Xander about their strange little relationship? About what had happened in the corridor down to the basement, and the movie marathon they never got around to? No. Never. Please not. Irina's finger tapped on the couch. She needed to get Evan to stop— _Xander_ would probably die of embarrassment.

"I did," she replied. It was logical, and it would stop Evan from digging _more_.

"How lovely," Evan hummed. "Let me guess. Xander feels the same, but the good old Selection is confusing?"

"If you would like to discuss Xander's side of that conversation, you are free to converse with him. I will not elaborate; that is private," she hissed.

"I'll take that as a yes. You wouldn't be that protective if he didn't feel the same."

Yes, but Irina wouldn't say that. "Now, can I do anything else for you? If not, I need to change. I have an impression to make tonight."

"It's just dinner," Evan pointed out.

"It's a banquet that will act as another point to allow not only the royal families of Illéa and Italy to judge us, but there will be photos. The whole country will. Think ahead, Evan. It's not just _dinner_."

Evan shrugged. "Sounds about right." He smiled, proud. "You go, girl. Change the world, like always, right? I'll be waiting back home for you."

"Do that," Irina chuckled. "And get some sleep. I'm sure standing around was _exhausting_."

Evan rose, and head to the door. "Yes, deadly. Also, please, win. I bet on you, and I don't want to lose my money," he said as he walked.

"Will do." Irina waved him off.

And so, the process of preparing for the banquet began. With Europe ahead of Illéa, they had placed the dinner earlier than usual, to accommodate potential jet lag. That meant that Irina didn't have a lot of time to revise notes. She did that as a maid dealt with her hair and make-up—something Irina once considered a waste of time but now understood. If you had the best of the best, would you choose those who took care of themselves, or those who claimed to spend time on other things? They could also be lying and right now, a lot of her future plan depended on maintaining the impression she had made on Xander, and making it on others too.

Even if Xander liked her, he wouldn't make the same mistake as his father did. Even if she was doing nowhere as bad as Lysandre, she had to take care.

In evening gown, with a different pair of heels and different hairdo, Irina turned to the women's room early. The girls' clothes for the Italian's visit had been specifically made, when otherwise, they were on a tighter budget for clothes. Having seen the pain the Selection budget gave Xander, Irina was glad that he would eliminate more, soon. Of course, it was the budget what that was about.

On her way, walking down the staircase, she, though, recognised said prince standing and watching the arrivals outside. Journalists, Irina presumed. She stepped besides the crown prince, who nodded to her.

"How are you doing, Lady Irina?" he asked formally. With the press all over the house, he probably was concerned about people hearing. That was alright. Irina didn't want to be known as Xander's girlfriend, but Irina Cavanah, a woman on her own.

"Very well. This is all very exciting." She paused, glancing around. There was no one around. They could talk without lies. "This is a costly affair."

The relief—knowing that someone understood—was written into his face. He nodded. "It is. If it wasn't for Sophia giving you girls a budget, she would have gone overboard. I'm glad that Harriet Tailor got the hotel chain to host it—even if I still don't know how I feel about it."

"Have you considered Sophia's budget for the next part?"

"Yes, although it still requires me to consider the eliminations. How many, to be exact."

"I have a vague idea as to whom. I want to do it the day after the ball, actually. As soon as it makes sense and doesn't cause rumours."

"Did Alessandra's and Zarah's elimination cause them?"

"Momentarily," Xander replied. "The public relations team kindly reminded publishers to keep them in a good light, and given Zarah's recent ventures, I am confident that that has ebbed already."

"Are you concerned that it will look like the Italians are interfering with the Selection?" Irina deduced. "The day after won't do much to that."

Xander hesitated. "A good point, but I don't want Abby and the stylists to order more clothes, cost more money, and then let it go to waste. I can't tell them to not order them for the girls I plan to let go, because they will know."

"If the girls share sizes with other girls,

"I will _not_ check on the girls' sizes, Irina!" Xander blushed.

"Want me to?" Irina deadpanned. "I'm sure if I prompt the discussion to Harriet, she'll get it together. What about her brand deals?"

"The fashion week isn't too soon, and the brands are occupied with the preparation for that, unfortunately."

"Try to get them to sponsor some dresses as teaser?" Irina paused. "Who am I to talk; I have no idea about fashion."

"It's the same for me," Xander frowned. "I suppose I could try but—" he paused. "Too much on my mind right now."

"How many girls do you plan to let go?" Irina asked again.

"Five more. I don't like to go down on eighteen, it's far too odd for my taste, but there aren't three girls that stand out enough for me that I would say 'prioritise nice numbers'."

Irina nodded. "That would be ridiculous. Eighteen will be much better," she agreed. "

/ / /

 **The Women's Room of the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Veira Schreave**

The guards watched the journalists carefully. To Veira's dismay, they did not make sure to catch her best angle though, and she was more than grateful for the wide dress she had chosen for this occasion. This was a rare opportunity for the journalists to take photos of the girls—even if they weren't meant to speak to them.

Veira suppressed a yawn. Even if Veira and Harriet had chosen the soft couch to sit on as journalists entered and the last of the Selected arrived, she wished she had taken a nap in the afternoon rather than join Harriet in last minute preparations for their masequerade dresses. Against what the girls had decided a while ago, both had chosen to add their own wealth to the dresses.

"It was for the experience," Harriet had said. "You don't get invited to a royal ball every week."

Veira did, and maybe that was why she felt a tad guilty. Nonetheless, she rose when the asked to, allowed the journalists to take these photos of her that they desired so badly. Her hands hovered beneath her breasts, careful not to interrupt the flow of her skirt.

"Thank you, Lady Veira," Abby, in charge of organising this, nodded to her. With that, and as one of the lasts thanks to the name of her lovely province, Waverly, she was to join the other girls in the grand hall for the banquet. Food. _How great_ …

There were fewer reporters in the banquet hall, marked by their bright orange tags, and they would not stay for dinner. Veira knew that procedure all too well. No one had taken their seat yet; no member of the royal family had arrived either. Only diplomats, members of the Italian delegation and Illéan politicians. Veira gave her uncle, whom she saw on the other side of the hall, speaking to Jonathan Wilde, a soft smile. Her attention was diverted.

In the corridor she had just come from, she heard fast—too fast—steps. Her heart jumped a beat—the last time she had heard those fast steps had been a far too fateful time. She turned around, knowing that if she left now, people might ask questions.

It was the voice that changed her mind. "What does this mean!?" Louis called out, far too loud for his nature. Raw, harsh, cold. The Louis Illéa the public knew. Not the one she knew.

Veira, used to moving fast and elegantly, rushed to where the sound came from. She knew how Louis sounded when distressed. The journalists, she concluded. He hadn't been very present at his father's birthday for a reason.

Spend five years without much public appearances, and don't expect to be better in them than before.

Louis had moved into a side way—one made for servants—when Veira followed him. The server that had gotten the bad side of the prince looked dreadful at her. Almost as if she told Veira to leave. She would not do such a thing.

"Your Highness." The woman spoke like a school teacher. "This is a formal occasion inviting foreign dignitaries. _Of course,_ there is press." A tone entirely inappropriate for a Six. "I shall fetch Princess Sophia—oh, hello Lady Veira. The banquet is this way. Would you like me to show you the way? I'm happy to—"

"You are dismissed," Lady Veira Schreave of Waverly cut her off and passed by. Louis' face was white. White like the snow in Whites. He was shaking. The five years of staying away from the public hadn't helped after all.

Then again, Veira knew how it could be. In her own way, she knew.

"Louis," she whispered and stepped closer. "You don't need to go. They will understand."

"Be quiet. You have no idea." Louis' words were harsh. That was alright though, Veira believed, because of how Louis felt. It made sense, to her.

That was why she reached out with her hand, and gave him a smile. "It'll be fine," she replied.

Louis shook his head. He refused. "Veira, you don't—"

She nodded. "Then please, do explain."

"I—" Louis broke off. He looked away from her, ashamed. "You know what's going on."

"Then there should be nothing stopping you." Veira's attempt to help would probably—very likely—be futile. "Right?" She attempted another smile. "What are you feeling right now?"

Louis still didn't look her into her eyes. "I don't know," he admitted, though. "I'm… not afraid. No. That's different. It's not the same as being locked up in the safe rooms when Hill Castle was attacked."

"There are many types of fear."

"It's… _why_ can't I just go out? It's been _years_. None of the major newspapers would even dare to say anything against me. They know better. Why can't I just go out and continue with my life? I'm a prince, for heaven's sake. They won't hurt me."

"What do you think will happen if you go in?"

Louis' voice was hoarse. "It's… their _stares_. Can you feel the stares? Always watching and judging you?"

Veira nodded. "Yes, I do."

"Do you, though?" He turned around in disbelief.

"It's…" Veira paused, looking for words. "It's as if they _want_ you to make a mistake. As if they are waiting for it to happen—as if they've put out a trap for you already. As if it's inevitable."

Louis' eyes grew big. Veira did understand. "And no one…" he broke off, again.

Veira stepped closer. "And no one sees it. You're just paranoid, they say."

"… Yes. That's what they…" Louis nodded, and before Veira could make another step towards him, the prince was in her arms. Veira smiled to herself, and buried her own face in his suit, careful not to smudge her make up.

"I know how it feels," she reassured him.

"Can we go in together?" he asked her quietly.

"Of course."

And so, they went in together. Both well aware of the ways of the court, it wasn't difficult to have a conversation that made their entrance seem trivial. So, no one would even pay attention to them—they were nothing but two old friends speaking about the weather.

Only one person stared, and that stare wasn't the stare of a journalist hunting for answers. It was one of society's critical eyes. Louis did not notice, and that was good. She could ask her about it once Louis was distracted.

The easiest way, to Veira, was to engage into a conversation with her uncle and aunt. The Schreaves were closer to the Illéas than anyone else, or so they claimed, and Louis did not walk away when she steered to them.

"Your Royal Highness," her uncle nodded to Louis, "Veira, you look beautiful."

"Thank you, uncle."

"How are you two doing?" her aunt continued on.

"Very well, Lady Genevieve," Louis replied. "You too look as stunning as always. I hope your flight to Angeles was well?"

"It was lovely. Such a beautiful sky today. We are truly blessed."

"We are indeed."

And from there formalities and greetings took over. Veira soon lost track of the people she and Louis, sometimes together and sometimes apart chatted with. She found herself among the other Selected eventually, and after ending a brief conversation with the Governor of Sumner, found Irina alone.

"Lady Irina? A word?"

"Lady Veira," she greeted her. She went straight to the point, "What is it?"

"I saw you looking at Prince Louis rather unhappy. I'm curious. What happened?"

Irina crossed her arms. "You saw him in the hallway."

"Yes…?"

"He is a prince. He shouldn't panic about a few journalists. It's _distressing_ to see royalty behaving that way. They are the leaders of Illéa."

"Distressing." Veira repeated, dumbfounded. "Because he has emotions."

"His inability to think logical is distressing. Would you want someone like that so close to absolute power over the country?"

"No, but—that's _human_."

"It's perfectly possible to have emotions and not let your actions control them. It's quite healthy, believe me."

"I see." Veira forced a smile. "An interesting perspective," she added on. Once that was said, she turned. "Well, do excuse me, I would like to say hello to a few family friends."

Veira made her escape quick, and into the crowd of people who were desperate to speak to her. She was more than happy to engage into these brainless conversations. They were a good distraction. Away from people who claimed that emotions were weak. _Well, yes, of course you are week, dear Veira, but look at yourself. You could be so pretty. An ideal woman of society. Just try a bit, then the people will like you and you will be happy._

As the dinner began, Veira engaged into more distractions—conversations—at first with the Italian ambassador that had been seated nearby herself, then with the others—for her, that meant Prince Luigi, Prince Ernest and Lady Andreia.

"Luigi," Ernest, ignoring all rules of protocol, began, "you must make Xander play a round of _League of Legends_ with you."

Andreia, always the good officer, frowned, but did not oppose the prince. Veira, having heard and seen enough, understood. Luigi did not. "Pardon me?"

"Xander took Andreia here to a convention and ended up playing the game. He was terrible."

Luigi coughed on his food, amused. "I—I can imagine that," he claimed.

Veira, with her barely touched plate, let out a polite chuckle. "I am not entirely sure if His Royal Highness would appreciate that."

"Even better a reason," Ernest called out. The conversation kept on going light-hearted, and exactly as the distraction Veira needed. These conversations, the ones without any true meaning, she could do easily.

Veira found her escape in the empty words exchanged between ambassadors, politicians, royalty and guests. Even after dinner, when she moved around again to engage into more, senseless exchanges, her lips once again formed a smile.

"Lady Nereida was a lovely woman, indeed." She overheard Amelie mention. Curious to the mention of her fellow Selected, she turned to the Italian Queen, who was standing with Amelie. Nereida was leaving them just now, alongside Blair Willow, her friend.

"I know. Do keep quiet though."

"Of course. I do understand what you mean with General Wilde. He can be quite opinionated. I have enough experience with that type of parent."

 _Huh?_ Veira hid the surprise on her face. What was going on between Ernest, Amelie, Nereida and General Wilde?

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **Frenchie is French helped me a lot with planning the events, as did Wikipedia and YouTube. I looked for a bunch of state visits (speeches, lots of speeches smh) to base what was going on here; please appreciate what I threw together.**

 **Let me know what you think of the Italians.**


	41. Chapter 40

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, the Italians arrived, and with that the first group's reception happened. In between, Irina shared another moment with Xander, discussing costs and eliminations, as well as a conversation with her brother, Evan, where she confirmed admitting her feelings to Xander._

 _Later on, in the evening, Veira found Louis panicking over the presence of the journalists. While she helped him calm down, understanding how he felt, Irina insisted that being led and controlled by his feelings like that was weak and bad for a prince, leaving Veira unsure as to what to think of herself._

 **Chapter 40**

»You're the evil one here«

 **"I don't know, somewhere, anywhere"**  
 **Vicky**

"It's your fault. You're the evil one here, not us."

Tori was nice. Andrew was not.

Tori did not come often. When she did, she said that she had lots of missions 'for the good of Illéa', but Willian Willow and Andrew Hartman were scary. Big scary. William, the big, old man didn't come as often, but if he did—scary.

The images he showed her were the best of the worst.

"This is your fault," Andrew would say. "Your family did this."

All that red and that blood and that dirt and fire and dead—never ever would her family do that! "That's not true!" she kept on calling out. Never ever would her family hurt their people. It was their duty to protect them. She, a princess, had to do the same.

"It's your fault. You're the evil one here, not us."

She had to. She wasn't evil. She wasn't the bad guy, she'd claim. "I didn't do that!" She was innocent! She meant good; she wanted to go and help these people if they just let her! If they just let her go and help because she could and she wouldn't hurt them and—

"You did that. You and your family did that."

Xanxan would never do that. He was a good brother. Xanxan was good and he helped people and he always did what was right. Ernie was too goofy and stupid to do anything, and Loulou only hid in the library. Sophy was that beautiful, perfect princess. She wouldn't—never ever!

Andrew was loud. Andrew meant hurt. Andrew was big and strong and scary and frightening. He'd laugh, and go on and on and no "Nononostopthis please!" would stop him. Vicky crouched and hid in the corners, tried to merge with that cold, dirty wall that smelled terribly but no she couldn't run couldn't leave couldn't do anything when he was here because she couldn't move and all of her body would freeze when her mind screamed _RUN_.

When the door opened this time, Vicky sobbed. She didn't want Andrew to come back. She couldn't answer his strange questions, god knew how long it had been. She didn't want to be told that she was evil because there was no way mummy could ever do these things…

"Vicky?" the voice, though, was kind. Tori, Vicky realised. "Hey, kiddo. It's me…"

Vicky, though, didn't move. Didn't peek. Andrew and William had done that before—record mummy's voice calling her. Mummy had been there—she believed—and mummy would come and save her and everything was right and—

"Gosh, what did these two do this time?" Tori huffed, stepped closer.

Vicky squeaked. "Go away!"

"Oh, my dear," the other voice muttered. Another male, but not like William and Andrew. Younger.

"Hey, Vicky?" Tori crouched in front of her. "This here is one of Xander's friends. I know that you probably don't recognise him, but he's pretty close with him. You can trust him."

No, she couldn't, not when she couldn't trust herself or Xanxan or Sophy or dad or mommy into not doing these terrible things and—

"Vicky?" Tori repeated. "Can you hear me?"

"It's useless, Belasko," Xanxan's friend remarked. "She's a mess. There's no way we can get any sensible information out of her. Give up on it. You're on your way up. With that mission in Sonage you were assigned? I wouldn't expect you to be in the higher ranks soon."

"Not my point," Tori replied. "Vicky still has value."

"As hostage, maybe, but we've tried and the Crown forces aren't stopping just because we threaten her." The Crown forces? That were the people on her side. They were supporting Xanxan and dad and mummy and they were good. Grandpa always said that the soldiers were good and helpful and protective! "At this point, we might as well switch tactics."

"She's innocent. She's just a child." Tori was the only one to claim that.

"Why are you so awfully fond of her?" Xanxan's friend said. Could he really be his friend? Tori said so, and she always said the truth…

"I had a sister her age. She died in a confrontation."

"Killed by the Crown, so—"

Tori shook her head. Vicky could see it, without stopping to hide. If even Tori had been hurt by her and her family… She surely hated her too. Vicky was evil. Vicky was the bad guy. Vicky had been the one to hurt her too, then. That's what Andrew always said. It was her fault. It was the fault of her family—

"No. I think it was one of us, by accident," Tori replied. Surely, she lied. Andrew always said that the rebels were good and protecting the people of Illéa… William had said it too. Xanxan's friend huffed, so he didn't believe her.

"As if."

"There's enough evidence."

"Evidence that the media tampered with."

"Evidence on our side."

He shrugged. "I've seen what the military does."

"I've seen what the rebels do. Both are at fault."

"We are making a difference!" he called out, far too loud. "I've seen what's going on in Sonage. I'm not blind. That's why you recruited me."

"I know." Tori remained calm. Oh, how Vicky envied her for that. She wished she could do that. "Now, Vicky?"

No response. She couldn't open her mouth, even with her throat hurting from crying. Not when she was still shaking and yet couldn't move. Not when this all was her fault. It was her fault. It was her fault. It was her fault. This all, she deserved it, right?

"Vicky? Alright. I'll grab us some tea. Xanxan's friend here can join us, too, and then we can chat a bit, yes?" Tori asked, but Vicky didn't reply. With a sigh, Tori rose, opened the door and left.

"You're evil," Xanxan's friend hissed, on his way out. Tori didn't hear. "Just like the rest of them."

Maybe, Vicky thought one day, they were right. If Xander's friends thought that…

/ / /

 **Adrian's Drawing Room in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles**  
 **King Adrian of Illéa**

The King of Illéa watched the empty gardens through his window. He regretted allowing himself being talked into joining his family and the Selected tonight. It was just going to be yet another evening reminding him of Lys—she had loved the theatre so much—and he had better things to do.

"Adrian," Lillian Blanchard began. She had been here all afternoon, ever since Amelie had kindly convinced him into coming along when she and Sophia had their morning tea in the gardens. Despite his love for the gardens, Adrian dreaded their cheerfulness.

"Yes?" he turned around.

"You shouldn't force yourself to go, if you don't want to." She smiled softly. "Your sister, evidently, does not understand your pain."

"She does not," Adrian agreed.

"I'm happy to keep you company. Isn't Victoria staying home as well? Surely, nobody will complain."

"They will. They always do. They have been since this all started. Since Xander officially took power." He paused. "He is doing perfectly fine! What are they complaining about?"

Lillian paused. She was the only person Adrian saw regularly. Xander and his children were doing perfectly fine on their own; they didn't need his help. Xander's Selection was going on perfectly fine. He was meeting with all the girls, and they were involved into the Italian's visit too. Xander knew—Adrian had told him himself—about the inevitable meddling in regards to his choice, and he had an idea as to how to deal with the international conflicts.

Everything was good. They might as well let him stay here, in his rooms where there wasn't anything to remind him of Lys.

"They just don't understand," Lillian agreed with him.

"Of course, they don't."

"Exactly." Adrian sighed. "On that matter, I haven't apologised for Victoria's behaviour that one time."

Lillian rose her eyebrows. "Oh? What do you mean?"

"When she came in, two weeks ago," Adrian remembered. "She acted as if you were a demon. It was absolutely inappropriate."

To his surprised, Lillian chuckled. "Oh, my dear, don't worry. So much has happened to your daughter, it's inevitable that she would react that way. I must admit, in the moment, I was hurt, but of course, I understand what happened to her."

Adrian sat down, opposite of Lillian. She was no lady that he would expect in the palace—no matter the white blouse, dark red skirt with black rose patterns and pumps. She crossed her legs, hold the tea cup like a commoner and in the end, Adrian knew that she was a Three who had gotten here into the Palace through the Selection—even if her daughter was the Selected.

Awfully like Lysandre, he thought.

"You look beautiful today," he remarked. "That's a lovely skirt."

Lillian blushed. "Thank you. I'm awfully fond of this skirt."

"You do wear a lot with roses."

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Lillian asked. "I wish I would have the time and space to have a garden like you do here. It's beautiful—from what I've seen."

Adrian smiled. "I'm quite proud of what it has come to. Even if the Unrest did it no good."

She glanced to her watch, and frowned. Immediately, Adrian jumped to conclusion—maybe she was bothered by the topic and looking for a response, but no, Lillian smiled to him. "It's almost three o'clock. I need to leave, I'm afraid. I have a work meeting."

"Of course…" How could he have forgotten? Lillian had to work somehow. Something had to support her here in Angeles.

Knowing that the Selected where in their classes and that given the time, his family was either working or present at some form of social engagement, he chose to accompany Lillian down to the entrance hall of the Illéa Palace. Or so he told himself.

When she had left, her car out of his eyesight, Amelie stepped next to him. Recognising his sister, Adrian could only sight; she had been here after all.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Do tell me who that lady was?" Amelie replied. "I don't recognise. She's not part of the court, is she?"

"No."

"A friend?" Amelie asked. "I wasn't aware you socialised anymore."

"That—" Adrian sighed. "That comment really wasn't needed."

"Oh, Adrian," she chuckled. "What are siblings without an occasional fight?"

 _Much easier to raise_ , he thought. "She is a friend."

"What's her name?" Amelie hummed.

"Lillian Blanchard."

"Is she Lady Katheryn's mother? Is that how you met?"

"Yes, she is. Sophia had invited some of the Selected's families to my birthday ball," he replied honest.

"Ah, I remember, the one I wasn't invited to," Amelie teased. "I am still deeply insulted."

"Of course," Adrian nodded. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Go back and run your country?" Amelie huffed.

"Amelie—"

"But of course, you still mourn Lys. I see." She sighed. "Sophia sent me to talk to you. She's concerned, but also looks pretty tired. I'm more worried about your children than I should be, Adrian."

"I would appreciate it if you do not bother me with that."

Amelie nodded. "I wouldn't want to create tensions between Illéa and Italy, would I?"

Adrian was left surprised when his sister left him at peace, and did not force him to say a single other world. Surprising, because knowing his family, they all would try to get so much more out of his mouth than just a "Stop bothering me".

Who knew—maybe he was lucky today.

The Illéan king considered himself lucky for the time it took him to head back to the third floor and his rooms, where he found his eldest son waiting for him. Surely, he immediately assumed, Amelie's brief hello had merely been a tactic for Xander to have a point.

"Father, I need to talk to you," the Crown Prince of Illéa announced.

Adrian sighed. "What is it, Xander?" There was no point in hiding his dismay. The same conversation twice in a single day was too much.

"I have a question."

"Xander, I cannot."

"Cannot answer my question?" the prince asked, confused.

"I—" If he wanted to play dumb, alright. It wasn't like Adrian didn't have all the time in the world. "What is it?"

"How did you know that mom was the One?"

Oh. He hadn't expected that conversation. "Let's not discuss that in the hallways," he decided and nodded towards the door.

Father and son headed inside. Adrian sat down, and took a moment to look at his son. He couldn't pinpoint if Xander was nervous (he was dodging his eyes) or annoyed at him (everyone was nowadays). Knowing the Illéan court, everyone tended to have their own little secrets and games. Maybe this was just another bit in it, but thankfully, Adrian considered his son as far from the best at these games. So was his sister, so if even someone else was telling them what to do. Probably Louis, but Louis had no interest in him returning to power.

"Where does that come from?" he asked his son.

"It isn't coming out of the nowhere," Xander replied. "There's one Selected that I quite like, but I don't know if—" he broke off.

"If she is the One?" Adrian concluded. "Elaborate."

"I like her. I dare to think she would be fit for being Queen. The people aren't opposed to her. She likes me, and she is the type you would want as a leader."

"That sounds a bit too good to be true," Adrian commented. With what happened to Lysandre, he was by no means fit to give advice on this, but there wasn't exactly anyone else. Xander needed help, and Adrian was willing to support his son if he could. If it didn't hurt.

"You used to say that mom was too perfect to be true."

"She was."

"With mom, the people turned against her."

"Do you expect that to happen to your favourite?" Adrian wondered. "My point being—even if someone sounds perfect, there will be inevitable downsides."

"She's been consequently among the more popular Selected. Generally in the top ten, actually, but I assume that is because volunteered during the Unrest."

"Who?"

"Irina."

Adrian nodded, even if he had no idea which face belonged to that name. "I see."

"I know that you proposed to mom weeks before you actually ended the Selection. When you chose your Elite. And I know that you knew that mom was the one weeks before that. Why wait so long?"

"Xander, a relationship may last for years, but marriage lasts for your whole life. Even if in that moment I was head-over-heels in love with her, I needed to know if she would be the One for the rest of my life."

"So, you're saying you waited to know if your feelings would last?"

"Yes." Adrian nodded. "Definitely do that, even if you have a perfect Selected. Even if you could let everyone but three go, wait. Do you know the saying 'If you really loved her, would you have fallen in love with another?' and that being a sign that you should chose the second?"

"But if I like the other enough, why would I not forget the her and move on?" Xander challenged.

Adrian deadpanned. "I'm trying to helpful."

"Yes, but—"

"My point remains the same. Just because you think you have one you like, don't let the rest go just yet. Give them a chance."

"All of them?"

"Okay," Adrian sighed, "not all of them. Those where you see a chance. If Irina wasn't here, who would you chose?"

"I don't know," Xander replied.

"There we go. When you approach the others, try to think as if Irina wasn't around. I tried that with Lys."

"Did it work?"

Adrian huffed. He smiled to himself. "No, it didn't. That was what proved it to me, looking back. I'm still glad I waited a bit." Even if it gave them time to develop this insane hatred on Lysandre… "Give it time, Xander."

"Logically, it would make more sense to eliminate quickly, given the costs."

Typically Xander. "Xander, view this as a huge investment into the future. You'll get out a lot. You can put in a bit of money. Just go bit by bit. It'll be fine."

"Will it though…?"

"I most certainly hope so."

/ / /

 **The Women's Room in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles**  
 **Andreia Jensen**

With today being the only free day of the Italian's visit, they had—the politicians were in meetings and the Queen had gone to a memorial to the Unrest with Sophia and Ernest—the girls still found themselves cramped into the Women's Room. Harriet had, nearby the end of their lessons, pointed out something very curious.

There would, inevitably, going to be eliminations very soon.

"Who do you think will be out?" Irina, next to Andreia, wondered.

"I would have said Zarah until she got eliminated," Andreia replied. "Other than that, I couldn't say. Kate, maybe, given her behaviour during our date, but I don't think I have the gasp on His Royal Highnesses' character for that just yet."

Irina nodded. Just like most of the girls, they had been sitting and talking about this and that (but mainly the rumour of the approaching elimination), and even if Andreia wished to think she was confident in herself staying…

"If you consider the type Alessandra and Zarah are, I hope we are safe," she admitted.

"I would think so," Irina replied. "I agree though; with what Kate did on the convention, I cannot imagine her staying. In some way, she did endanger us!" She was unusually fierce on that matter.

"Do you think he'll see what the Italians think?" Andreia wondered.

"It _would_ look like the Italians are influencing the Selection—in some way," Irina pointed out. She leaned back in the two armchairs they occupied. The Women's Room was unusually chatty with so many girls around. Once again, Andreia's eyes darted to the three entrances. Most of the time, she and Irina chose to spend time in one of their rooms, not the Women's Room. It were these rumours that kept the girls here; curious as to what others thought.

"Do you think they have an opinion? Queen Amelie looked rather invested into not doing that yesterday."

"No, but it could lead to rumours claiming that."

Andreia nodded. "I see what you mean. Is there anyone who you expect eliminated?"

"I'd like to get rid of Miss Tori, but she's not a Selected, unfortunately."

"Miss Tori? The advisor?" Andreia asked surprised. "Why her?"

"She…" Irina broke off, looking for words. How odd of her. "She gives me the wrong vibes, if you understand? I like to trust my gut feel, it tends to be right."

Andreia nodded. "I see…" Irina was awfully occupied with her nails, though; an unusual behaviour for the otherwise calm, objective solider. She was hiding something, Andreia concluded, or she had other strong feelings on this matter. Did she know something that Andreia didn't know? "Shall we go and join the others? I think Deylin talked about getting out some games."

"That sounds good," Irina nodded. Again, how out of character; wouldn't she prefer to use her time for 'useful' things? Odd. Very odd.

Nonetheless, Andreia let her friend go—she could come back to this later, when she had more evidence. Deylin had already put out the game—and Rie, Minnie and Saywer were waiting to play already. "Do you all know how to play?" Deylin asked. Everyone did.

They were going to start play the game, but of course, something had to happen first. The group quickly noticed Leila Sinclair rushing into the Women's Room, visibly agitated. She dropped onto one of the arm chairs, oblivious of the scene she was causing, and buried her head in her hands.

"What's up?" Ami asked, curious.

" _Harriet_ is up," Leila groaned.

A collective sight echoed in the Women's Room. Even with Alex gone, that cat fight—of course—had to continue. Even if Andreia didn't say anything, she agreed. This was going far past the amusing fight it had been before.

"What happened this time?" Minnie asked.

As if on cue—given it was Harriet, Andreia did not put that beyond her—the winged doors to the Women's Room opened once more, and Harriet strutted in. Silence fell, but Harriet Tailor, by all means, was not bothered by that.

"Are you kidding me?" Leila spat out at her.

Harriet didn't bother looking at her, and instead took a seat at the window. It was probably the spot that she and Veira tended to occupy; it looked comfortable enough that she had been surprised that no one sit there; so probably unspoken "my seat" rules among the girls that spent time regularly here.

"No, not particularly," she eventually replied.

"We had an agreement."

Harriet rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Who cares about _that_?"

"I, evidently, do." Leila glanced around. "Where's Veira?"

"Asleep."

Leila huffed, "Of course she is sleeping."

How Veira was able to sleep so much was a riddle to Andreia, but given how everyone had just accepted it by now, even she was prompted to follow that pattern. Nonetheless, she did not entirely gasp as to what was going on. "Excuse me, what's is the issue here?" she asked, in the hopes of ending the fight.

"Do you remember that agreement we all had? About clothes and only using what the palace provides us with?"

"Vaguely."

"Guess who went all out from their own closet, and was universally complimented for that on the banquet?"

"Harriet and Veira," Andreia concluded.

"Exactly. We all had a fair and just agreement. One meant to disable advantages based on where we come from and what our family does. Of course, though, good old Harriet and Veira had to go against that and wear Gucci all the way."

"My accessories were _Tiffany & co_, honey," Harriet hummed.

With a 'what the fuck' gesture, Leila stocked deadpanned. She couldn't find words. "That does not make it better, Tailor."

"That's just straight-out mean, Harriet," Isla remarked. Unlike usually, she was also in the Women's Room, and not with her niece. She sat with Ami, and seemed to be playing a card game on the table.

"Sweetie, I'm just representing the country. Politics. Nothing you need to know."

"Just wait for Alex to talk to the press and about Harriet," Sawyer muttered.

"Agreed," Deylin nodded. "It'll be a _fun_ spectacle."

Irina shrugged. "If you are bothered about such trivial things, then that may be the fault with you. It's just clothes."

"It's also a constant reminder of the wealth differences. I could never afford just casually wearing these dresses," Deylin hissed. "But of course, you could never think of that, couldn't you?"

"Excuse me?" Irina frowned. "I'm a Four, and I don't waste money on that stuff."

"How about that fancy jewellery you wore before that agreement? I'm pretty sure you kept on wearing it afterwards too. Going by what my maids told me, we are only given false, unreal stones, but yours looked pretty real. Where does _that_ come from?"

Where did that sudden pettiness come from, Andreia wondered?

"You seem to know awfully a lot about jewellery."

"I can google."

"My parents own a jewellery shop. It's from the store, and just a bit of promotion for them, so they—normal Fours—can make a bit more money. I'm sure, if the chance arises, you would promote your family's art too," Irina deadpanned. Given by her frown, Andreia presumed that she was just as confused by Deylin's pettiness as she was. Irina shrugged.

"I—okay. But what about—"

Leila interrupted her. "That's not politics, that's just cheating."

"Are you saying that athletes should all limit themselves just to what the weakest can do?"

"Given that this country had just a civil war regarding these inequalities, yes."

Harriet crossed her legs. "Again, sweetie, what I did was represent Illéa. I did not wear Gucci—that's Italian, even if it would fit the occasion. Might do that at the ball, actually. Thanks for the idea." She paused. "But no. My point is—Italy is a centre of arts and fashion. Gucci comes from there. The fashion week in Milan is a _dream_. As Selected, it is my duty to represent Illéa's fashion industry."

Leila rolled her eyes. "Are you kidding me?"

"No. Have you seen the Italian delegation? Some of the members have strong ties to the fashion industry. We want Illéan brands to be part of that European upper-class category; it brings in jobs, money and stimulates the economy."

"I—" Leila broke off. "Again, you are missing the point."

"Then we may just have different ones," Harriet replied. "I'm sorry, but I care for the economy."

"Yikes," Deylin muttered. "That's no excuse."

Irina shrugged. "It makes sense. This isn't just about Illéa. It's about international relationships. Leila isn't missing the point; she's just jealous that people like Harriet's style."

"Again, _seriously_?" Deylin groaned. "Do you think you are above everyone else?!"

"No, I don't…?"

"She does have a point," Andreia nodded. "At least, it sounds realistic. If Amelie was seen wearing Illéan brands, it would probably encourage the upper class of Italy to follow the notion and create a market."

Rie glanced at her. She probably shared the sentiment with Deylin, but unlike Deylin, she saw the logic in it. "Ah, yes, the market we absolutely need," she replied with a smirk, nonetheless.

"We do. We need money to recover and reconstruct," Minnie replied. "While some of that money can come from Illéa, if money comes from the outside, it means that the total amount of money in Illéa increases."

Deylin sighed. "Yeah, alright, whatever."

/ / /

 **Outside the Royal Theatre, Los Angeles, Angeles**  
 **Nereida Statten**

Given the number of Selected, they could not all arrive in the same car. That was quite unfortunate, but inevitable, and Nereida was just happy that she was in the same car as Blair. They were talking about beaches. Both liked beaches. All was good.

"Have you seen the play? The playwright is from your hometown, isn't he?" Deylin asked. She and Minnie were also seated with them.

"Yes," Nereida hummed. "I was in the debut performance."

"Were you?" Minnie asked, surprised. "Since when do you act?"

"The original had a lot of physical theatre," Nereida explained. "I was a background dancer, so to say."

"With this Oscar Wilde being a new playwright, that must have been a bad paying gig," Deylin concluded. She, too, was a Five.

Nereida leaned against the window. She remembered the play very well. When she had been cast, things had just started to be alright. She missed that time; back then, she didn't need to hide being in a relationship. "I had my reasons to join it."

"Oh? So mysterious?" Minnie teased. "Do tell!"

Blair bit on her lip. She knew, Nereida concluded, but that was alright. She was her best friend here, after all! She glanced at Nereida, making strange expressions and shaking her head. What did she mean?

"It's a long story," Nereida began, "and I started when I was background dancer in a play by Gideon Bank. Do you know him? He used to direct movies in Los Angeles, before the Unrest. I think my town paid him a lot of money to get him set up a play in Bonita. Tourism boomed when it was on…"

Before Nereida could elaborate further on Gideon Bank, Oscar Wilde and how she found herself dancing in that play, the car stopped at the red carpet of the Royal Theatre of Illéa. It was a dream to perform here, for any Five, and even Nereida knew that. She had dreamed of it for a long while.

A footman appeared at the door and allowed the four Selected to leave the car. Cameras, journalists and fans alike moved their attention to them. Nereida smiled, and she waved at them. "Hello!" she hummed. "This is amazing!"

"So many people," Blair agreed.

Cameras flashed, and it would have been a lie to say that Nereida didn't smile for them. She was performer, after all. She belonged on the stage, into the attention. If Blair and Deylin behind her were much less confident, she was happy to interact with the crowds in their state. She knew that they weren't meant to talk to the press, and so, she focused on the fans that had managed to come close by, until one question caught her attention fast.

"Lady Nereida, what can you say about your relationship with the playwright?"

"Is it true that you were dating until very recently?"

"Please comment on the allegation that you joined the Selection out of spite!"

Stopping in front of these journalists, Nereida titled her head, confused. Of course, that wasn't true. They were still dating, and she had joined the Selection not out of spite, but out of Ernest's prompt. He had wanted her here in Angeles, but because of his terrible uncle, he needed to come up with a plan more complicated than the play he was writing (and not showing Nereida, but she had read it) right now.

"Uhm…" she hesitated. "It's true that we dated," she began, slowly, "but…"

Like the knight in shining armour (or black suit), Ernest was, he stepped besides her out of the nowhere. A hand on her shoulder, he reassured her. He would take care of it. Just like when the local newspaper had caught the rumour that her 'wealthy boyfriend' was actually nobility…

"Lady Nereida is not available for comment," he charmed the journalists. "Whatever relationship she had in the past, it is not a concern right now, and it would be inappropriate to bug her about them, wouldn't it? Especially today?"

Gently, he pushed her towards the entrance. "Are you alright, Tiny?"

"I was just surprised that they knew about that," Nereida admitted.

"It's only a question of time until they dig into everyone's past."

"Poor Blair…"

"Oh, right," Ernest nodded. "I remember. Don't worry. I have the Savoys on our side. That makes grandmother, the Savoys and Victoria. We are getting there, love. Not much longer."

Nereida beamed. "That's great!"

"I know." Ernest smiled. He nodded towards Xander, who was speaking with Luigi, and towards Veira who spoke with Harriet. "If they ever ask you anything about 'Oscar Wilde' again, and I'm not around, reply that you broke off a month prior to the Selection, and that you have not had contact to anyone in Bonita, except your parents and sister. It's not a lie, I'm here."

Nereida chuckled. "I'll do that!"

"Lovely."

"Do you have a plan for the rest of your family?"

"Sophia is a wild-card," Ernest admitted. "I thought she liked you but more recently, I'm concerned that Helena and my work is making it more difficult. But don't worry, I'll figure things out," he hoped.

"I know you will."

And when that was done, everything would be just as she wanted it to be. No more long-distance and rare, fancy letters—only Ernest and Nereida, and whatever else would come. She smiled. Not entirely how she had imagined it, but close enough. She would probably not be in Bonita. Very likely, actually. Since Ernest was a prince now, he probably had to stay in Angeles. Nereida pounded. That meant that her family would be far away…

"Is something?" Ernest asked.

"If I stay here in Angeles with you, then I can't see my parents and Sirena…"

He chuckled. "Tiny, there are such things as planes, to begin with, and nothing stops us from visiting them as often as we want. Besides Xander and his penny-pinching maybe, but that, I can talk my way through. Plus, if they want, I'm sure we can find them a neat place to stay—right here in Los Angeles."

Nereida laughed. "Is there anything you can't solve?"

"World hunger? My sister having some underlying ambitions regarding the Selection that I don't get?" He shrugged. "There are certainly some things I can't fix, but I'll make sure that we will work out."

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **The next chapter will be another update on Gutter of Stars!**

 **I hope everyone is safe and doing alright! Let me know if you ever need someone to chat to, though!**


	42. Chapter 41

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Adrian reiterated his feelings to Lillian, and Amelie let him go awfully easy, while Xander requested advice on the Selection. The Selected arrived at the Oscar Wilde play where Ernest promised Nereida, again, that he would sort things out. The girls spent time together, and once again, Harriet and Leila ended up in a fight. Deylin was unusually tense, too._

 **Chapter 41**

»Petition for you to join us«

 **Outside the Angeles Military Hospital, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Jaira Phillips**

The streets had been blocked by the police, and by the time Jaira found a moment to take a seat, things were going quite well. Moving from 'just a charity event' to a street festival focusing on the military hospital had been the right decision. Nereida adding in the children and what not too. She sat on one of the banks at the road that had been marked as part of the 'racing track' (although racing was, by far, not the right term) . This part of the blocked-off area had also been blocked off from the public, allowing the Selected, the royals and anyone else who could get in some private space outside press control. Jaira was fairly sure that the wild present of press and public were a nightmare for the public relations department.

The race track was growing emptier as the evening came. sShe watched as Leila, teaming up with one of the veterans that worked with the charity, the Illéa Veterans Fund, they had chosen. Like all of the Selected, she was tailed by an un-uniformed member of the royal guard. Jaira's bodyguard was hovering behind the bench. A strange feeling (and she kept on turning around, feeling followed) and something that, or so she told herself, she would need to get used to.

"Have you seen the royal family?" Irina asked, when passing by her.

"I think they were in the tent we prepared for them. Well, mostly. I think Queen Amelie was quite enthusiastic as to try the team up race, and dragged the princes along."

Irina nodded. "Thanks."

With that, she left Jaira alone again. She enjoyed the brief moment, given the loud music being played and the crowds around. She had long lost oversight of it all, and officially was on her break as part of the organisation team. She needed it.

Her watch showed the time to be closing up to five o'clock, and she rose to rejoin the others for the stage. The stage had been set up on an intersection, and while getting in meant airport-security checks, Jaira, even when approaching from the distance, saw a sizable crowd. She headed towards the representative of the Illéa Veterans Fund, and the nearby military hospital.

"Lady Jaira!" the fund rep greeted her. "You're back."

Jaira nodded. "With so many people buzzing around, it's always good to take a break."

"Of course."

"How are things going?"

"The numbers are just as we expected," the representative replied, referring to donations and all. Oddly, they had chosen to limit those who would get to join the 'charity gala' (which meant access to the limited areas where Jaira had come from), but now seeing them, she understood. It still needed to feel exclusive, even if it was on the streets of Los Angeles. Besides that, they had found others ways to get money—thanks to good old capitalism. People paid to set up stalls and similar, ranging from bakeries to small school performances. Whatever brought in money.

"That's amazing!" she replied with a smile. "I'm glad to hear that."

"Plus, appearing on the Report will hopefully do well too. I love the creativity of that your racing game!" the hospital rep added on.

"Thank you," Jaira smiled. "I haven't gotten around to going myself, unfortunately. I'd need a different pair of shoes."

"Of course," they laughed.

Just like the other Selected—at least most—Jaira had brought comfortable shoes and hidden them away, but for now, she wanted to explore the localities. They had been given the OK for that in this area—otherwise, it was 'another security risk'. She sighed at that fought. Almost as if they were the highly dangerous chemicals back at I-TEC.

She stepped out of the organisation tent, and onto the road, passed the security entrance and headed on towards the closest stall she could find; the local preschool's place offering drawing, finger painting and a school bake sale. Too bad she didn't bring money.

With the children drawing, an elderly woman was sitting, and telling tales. Nereida Statten and, to Jaira's surprise, Harriet Tailor were eagerly listening and drawing with them, and Jaira smiled. She stepped closer to hear it to be the woman telling tales about watching now three Selections in her life-time, and what a spectacle King Henry's had been.

"What are you doing?" she looked over the two's drawings.

"Sssh! She's telling good story!" Harriet whispered. Nereida giggled.

"Alright, alright," Jaira laughed and headed on. As cute as it was, it wasn't her cup of tea—even if the bakery smelled awfully good.

She kept on walking past Blair and Ami speaking and signing things for members of the public, and Andreia speaking with police officers. She passed Cilla who spoke with little, excitable children like a natural and Tessa hiding behind her, and Rosy and Kate taking a photo with others.

"Excuse me?" somebody stopped her. Another member of the public, recognising her to be a Selected. Jaira smiled, and when asked to take a photo, happily joined. Even with the public being a tad biased towards Nereida, whenever that was engineered or not, she wasn't going to fall behind that easily!

At the beginning of the race that went around the local block of houses, she recognised Anastasia with Deylin and Rie. With quick, fast paced and serious steps, she headed towards them. "What are you doing?"

"I was going to join the race," Anastasia replied, "but unfortunately, most people have already left."

"Oh, that's too bad. I haven't gone yet either."

"You three could do it together," Rie smirked. "Tram up race, but harder."

"Petition for you to join us," Deylin shot back. " _I_ have a heart condition."

"I don't have legs," Rie shot back. "No, thanks."

"Anastasia and I can do it together," Jaira volunteered them. Anastasia was quick to agree and they made their way to the start. Even if it wasn't the full purposed of their day here, it was better than nothing.

/ / /

 **Just outside the start of the race in the streets of Los Angeles, Angeles  
Rie Jespersen**

"You'd be fast in your wheelchair though," Deylin pointed out. "Just wheel through."

"No," Rie repeated. She hadn't gone through the race, and she wasn't planning to.

Deylin sighed, but admitted defeat. Too bad; would have been fun to go around a bit more. Rie, at the already empty entrance, glanced around. They had purposely chosen the early afternoon to accommodate Nereida's idea of the children, who otherwise would stay out late.

"The day will end soon," she remarked, a bit too glad that she had avoided them all. She wasn't going to be an issue. "Where are the others?"

Deylin shrugged. "I don't know. At the crossroad? It's noisy enough to assume people are still around there."

Rie nodded. She glanced to the nearly empty race tracks. Earlier today, it had been full with all kinds of people. A strange thing to see, she thought, but didn't bother much more with it. She was alright, but wouldn't do it herself.

On their way to the crossroad, they picked up Minnie and Sawyer fairly quickly. They weren't exactly anyhow busy, but rather looking through the crowd. Even if the crossroad was still quite noisy, there were more and more empty patches. Rie looked forward to the evening. Andreia soon joined them, meaning the group was almost complete.

"Hey, have you guys seen Irina?" Andreia asked them, when they met up.

"Again?" Sawyer frowned. "What's with her always disappearing? You'd expect she's planning something." Sawyer wasn't too far from the truth; besides the study meet ups Andreia did with her and that the others occasionally joined, she often disappeared for ages with no reason.

Rie huffed, "Planning what? A secret birthday party? Sorry to break it to you; my birthday is in August."

"I wouldn't be surprised if I knew where she was," Deylin remarked.

"Where? The wine cellars? A bit far off, isn't it?" Minnie shot back.

"Where do you think Irina is?" Andreia asked Deylin.

Deylin crossed her arms and glanced around. "Do you guys remember when we were planning today and Andreia came by looking for her? How we went looking too?"

The others nodded. "She said she had been in the gardens, and that she forgot about the meet up," Minnie remembered. "I still want to know where she went, given that none of the guards saw her."

"She didn't."

"Oh?" Sawyer rose an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Deylin hesitated. She crossed her arms wary. "I didn't tell you guys, because I felt like it wasn't something, I should have told you about," she clarified.

"Don't make this all tense, you aren't in an action movie," Rie blurted.

"I did find her; in the basement hallways, making out with the Crown Prince."

"Oh."

"You can't be serious!"

"Irina? Making out? With the Crown Prince?"

"Wait, _what?_ When?"

"That's out of character for both of them," Andreia frowned. "Besides, the prince surely would be honest about that. He is a man of honour! They wouldn't hide that; the nation deserves to know if Irina was to be the next queen. Are you sure it was them? Sometimes, people only think that someone looks alike and then—"

"Nah, I'm fairly sure."

Minnie tilted her head. "But, _Irina_? She's all 'logic' and if I had to rank everyone, she's at the bottom for _caring_ about love."

"To be fair," Andreia remembered, "her brother is part of the royal guard. Maybe they've met more than just the one group date that everyone had?"

Deylin nodded. "That's what I am assuming happened, too. Which is pretty damn unfair to the rest of us. We are all trying to make it fair, and she doesn't _even_ tell us. Sorry that I'm salty, but I'm just angry. I thought she was our friend, and then she keeps it secret?"

"You sound more jealous than anything," Minnie huffed. "But I get your point."

"To be fair," Sawyer motioned, "at the same time, relationships are kind of personal."

"In the _Selection_ , though?" Deylin gestured. "What in the world is personal here? I wouldn't put it past things that someone, eventually, reports on our underwear."

Rie cringed at that thought. "Yeah. That's true, but relationships, again."

"That's why, I think, she sided with Harriet yesterday. Because she's on her way to be all up in the caste system either way. She doesn't really need to bother anymore either way."

"That may be true, but I can't imagine Irina thinking like that. Plus, Harriet did have a point. Would you say your popularity is more important than repairing the country?" Minnie asked.

Deylin paused frustrated. She clearly wasn't fond of this all. Nor was Rie though, but not enough to complain like that. What if the prince liked her? Rie maybe didn't want the Selection to just end yet, but that was because of other reasons.

"Why don't we go and talk to her about it?" Rie suggested.

"We first need to find her, for that," Andreia pointed out. "I've been looking for her."

"If, whenever she was 'missing', she was with Xander, then why not figure out where he is?"

"Ah, yes, because it totally doesn't look like crazy Selected hoping to steal a moment with the Crown Prince while he's busy doing charity work." Rie rose an eyebrow.

"He'll likely be with the other members of the royal family, so their tend," Minnie shrugged. "Let's check that out. If they have an issue with us being around, we can just tell them the truth. We're looking for Irina."

That seemed to work well enough, until the girls reached the VIP area, as Rie called it, and were stopped at least by every second-high end guest present. When Andreia went ahead and cheerfully chatted with them, it was decided that the girls would pretend they weren't about to reveal the biggest news of the Selection.

They eventually reached the tent occupied by the two royal families, just as a first black limousine arrived—for Luigi and Louis, going by who was heading to it. With them, though, Xander came, who was talking to both of them. Rie doubted he'd just yet leave, though. Irina was standing outside the tent.

"Irina?" Deylin called out. " _Here_ you are!"

"Oh, hi," she replied unimpressed. "Where have you been?"

"Where have you been?" Deylin dared.

"Here," she replied as a matter-of-fact. "After I did the race twice and talked at the stage, I was tired, so I went here."

Right—Rie, Minnie and Irina maybe had gotten themselves into talking on the stage too, even if Minnie's talk was shorter and Rie's was filled with 'no, I do not need help' remarks. Others may, but she did not. Definitely not.

"And that's not related to the Crown Prince?" Deylin dared.

"I'm fairly sure he's been busy all day," Irina replied. "I'm not in the group that organised today, though," she added on, calling Deylin out. Deylin should have known that Xander, indeed, had been busy.

"That's true," Rie remarked in her favour.

"We have a question for you, and," Andreia paused, "we need you to answer honestly."

"You sound like I committed murderer," Irina remarked.

"The day you 'forgot' to meet up with Andreia to study," Deylin begun, "where you making out with the Crown Prince, in the basement?"

Irina was stunned. "Pardon me?"

"Where you making out with Xander Illéa in the basement?" Rie repeated, blunt.

She gathered herself rather quickly. "I'm not entirely sure if the term 'making out' is adequate, but yes."

"And you did not tell us? Your friends?" Deylin went on.

"No. It's personal."

"We're your friends!"

"Why would you keep that so much a secret that you'd lie to us?" Sawyer asked.

Irina shrugged. "I suppose, it was kind of an unsaid thing. At first, I thought it was just Xander being worried that it would look bad because I ended up hanging around when he planned the first round of dates, and it just kept going. I didn't want to make up a big thing of it."

"That worked well," Rie remarked.

" _Xander_?" Deylin rose her eyebrows. "On first name basis? What about protocol and—"

"Do you not call your friends by given name? Xander doesn't call his siblings 'His Royal Highness' either, and he addresses his father as dad too. Once you get close to them, it changes. Sure, if I did that on the _Report_ , it'd be another thing, but I'm not stupid enough for that. Is that all you need to ask?"

"Birdbrain," Rie huffed. "You could've told us."

"Again, I felt like it came more from Xander's side—and Evan's, I suppose."

"Your brother?" Deylin asked.

"Yes, my brother. Xander asked him to help him with that first round, and I came along. I wanted to spend time with him, given that I believed him dead."

Deylin shook her head. "Oh, shut up. We're friends. You shouldn't have lied to us. Avoid it, sure, but outright lie to us when we looked for you? _Seriously?_ " With that, she turned on her heels, and started walking into the opposite direction, back to the crossroad.

The girls looked at another, and Sawyer sighed. "I'll go after her. Minnie?" Minnie nodded, and together, the two followed Deylin. Even though Rie could see them catching up, they didn't stop. Deylin probably needed a break. Process this, or something.

With Deylin gone, and Minnie and Sawyer following her, Andreia gestured to the tent where they knew to be refreshments prepared. Props of being part of the organisation. Unspoken, Andreia grabbed herself one of the sodas. Rie followed, and her two friends sat down. Drinks were opened.

"Deylin is angry," Andreia stated.

"And you are irritated by that," Rie remarked to Irina.

"I don't see the point in lashing out like that. This is the Selection—as much as it doesn't make sense, it's about love, isn't it? And what if I like Xander? Be an adult and accept it."

Andreia nodded. "True point. You shouldn't have lied to me."

"I did genuinely forget," Irina replied, "but I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause _this_ commotion." She gestured.

"Still a birdbrain."

"Thanks, you too," she replied.

Glancing to her apparent-somewhat-the-Selection-is-weird boyfriend, Irina said, "I'll go and tell him, so if Deylin tells everyone and their mother, he at least knows."

Andreia nodded. "That's fair." Ever loyal to the crown, she was.

"Have fun. Use protection."

" _Rie!_ "

"I'm serious. Pre-marital sex is illegal—even if nobody cares. Asks the police detective here."

"It actually isn't anymore," Andreia, the ever-lawful good police detective, elaborated, "but yes, nobody cares. You shouldn't joke about this, though; not when referring to the royal family."

"Yes, mum."

The prince and Irina weren't far enough away for Rie and Andreia not to overhear them, so even if Andreia probably did her best to not do that, Rie could hear every single word.

"Xander? I need to tell you something."

He sounded anxious. "What happened?"

"Nothing life-threatening. My friends—Andreia and the others—have figured _us_ out," Irina admitted to the prince, bothered.

"What do you mean?" Xander asked.

"I don't know the details, but they came at me and I had to admit it. So much about not being obvious about it."

"Do you want me to deal with it?"

"Excuse me?" Irina laughed. "I'm perfectly capable of dealing with that myself!"

"Are you sure? Wouldn't you say that logically, it makes more sense for me to act?"

"I would prefer to think that I'm an adult woman who can deal with her friends being jealous," Irina teased. "That better not bother you."

Xander's smile was genuine, and to some degree, Rie thought he looked like a lovesick idiot. "It definitely does not."

Irina re-joined them shortly after that—no condom needed—and Xander rejoined his family. Rie was, more or less, happy with that, though, because she wasn't going to have that awkward 'meet your friend's boyfriend' moment in the Selection, where theoretically, all thirty-five Selected were kind of Xander's girlfriend.

Deylin did not talk to them on the ride back, but given the utter lack of "Irina, did you really make out with the Crown Prince" coming from everyone, including Kate and her utter lack of social conscience, she didn't tell others. Rie did not get to speak to them that night—or the next.

/ / /

 **Inside the Tailor Hotel, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa **

Given what transpired yesterday, Xander knew it was better not to ask Irina to be his first dance, even if she deserved it. He wanted to, let alone because he had been sitting between politicians and even if Irina was almost one of them, he still had more than just a business relationship with her.

And right now, he needed that.

Unfortunately, there were rumours, now, and given how Deylin Reyes had reacted, he wasn't going to give them any fuel anyhow. Therefore, he chose to do what was most logical and lookout for the Selected that the public was currently favouring most—Nereida Statten. With their date a felt month ago, he barely felt strongly about her, but it would make things easier. It was a reasonable decision, and _somebody_ had to be the first.

However, as Xander quietly passed up and down through the hall, beautifully decorated in golden, black and white, he could not find her. The fourth group most certainly deserved respect; they had turned the event into something Xander would expect of royalty. Given Veira's and Harriet's presence in the group, that wasn't surprising, but it remained to be a rather present surprise.

"Have you seen Lady Nereida?" he asked a servant. The servant pointed him back to the dance floor. Surely, Nereida wouldn't be dancing; the girls would most likely wait, at least, for Xander to find his first dance, wouldn't they? In the past, they would have only danced with him, but society had grown relaxed. Not that he minded, but his pride…

Nereida Statten did not wait for him. He realised that when he recognised her on the dance floor, in her beautiful, purple-blue tulle gown. She flew over the dance floor like a fairy, in Ernest's arms. Xander was, to say the least, surprised. Also disappointed, but mainly surprised. Poor Nereida. He'd need to have a word with his brother later on.

If Nereida was no choice, Xander realised, he would need to look elsewhere. He had better things to do—such as running the country—and was far from up-to-date with who the people's current favourites were. He knew Nereida, because of her constant performance near the top, but that was it. Maybe Isla or Rie? Both were liked, for different reasons, but Xander wasn't sure if he wanted to speak to Isla just yet. Not after their date… He needed to deal with that too, huh? Rie, meanwhile, was physically not very capable of dancing. She wasn't a choice either. Great.

He looked around, trying to look as much 'I am not desperately looking for someone to ask to dance' as possible, and spotted Cilla Chamberlain in bright yellow. She had been lovely company, he remembered, did well, contributed to the country and respected his family. The people didn't dislike her for sure. She was a good enough choice—and more importantly, less fights than Isla Woodley.

"Lady Pricilla?" he approached her. "May I have this dance?"

Cilla beamed. "Of course!"

There were stares and whispers when they entered the dance floor, but none that Xander, as Crown Prince, wasn't used to. He took Cilla's hands, and they began dancing. She was a good dancer for sure; a Two by birth coming from a family used to spotlight made it a second nature to her. Xander was glad he had chosen her.

"This group really outdid themselves," Cilla remarked. "I have not been at any event this beautiful."

As they danced, Xander replied. "Quite so, I agree."

"Their music choice is amazing too." She sighed. "I wish I could say we did that well."

"Your reception was equally well done," Xander assured her. "You were the first to go, too. This group had days to learn from your mistakes—not that there weren't any."

Cilla chuckled, "Thank you for that reassurance, Your Highness. How has your day been?"

"Busy, to be honest. I wish I could say I slept in, given how long this ball will probably last, but unfortunately, foreign dignitaries are present in my country, and I had to wake up early."

"Are you an early bird or night owl?" Cilla wondered.

"Ever-tired duck," Xander joked.

"Oh, ducks are adorable! We do have a couple at home, and whenever they have little ducklings, they are the most adorable thing you could imagine."

"Ducklings?" he repeated. "I have never seen any besides photos."

"Have you not? That's terrible! You must come by our ranch at some point. They're just too cute to be missed."

They continued dancing, with a pleasant, airy and non-political conversation going on. Cilla was good at conversations; she could make even the weather as interesting as anything else. However, as the music played came to its end, Cilla asked one more thing.

"Why me? Why did you ask me first?"

"Hmm?"

"You could have asked all other girls, but you chose me. There's no outstanding reason, and I was wondering."

Xander smiled. "I genuinely enjoy your presence. It's calming, and you are a very good dancer too."

Cilla laughed, with that beautiful, bell like laugh she had. "Well, if that's it, then I do enjoy your presence too, your highness."

That concluded the three minutes he had with Cilla, and while walking her back to the edge of the dance floor where she rejoined Tessa, Xander found himself in just the same old position. Maybe Tessa? She had been lovely company too, for sure, but it would look like he was just going through all of his Selected, given that she was nearby. He glanced to the dance floor, but Nereida was still with Ernest—it had to be their fourth song by now. With most other Selected either dancing or in conversations, Xander's choices were limited.

Maybe—now, that the first dance was out of the way and the girls were, indeed, actually engaged into conversations with others, he could ask Irina? Xander could stay strong, hold onto his decision and put Irina in the grey middle, or he could do what was easier for him, and ask her now. Xander chose easy.

"Lady Irina? May I have this dance?"

A smile hushed over her cheeks. "Why not? There isn't much other company, so I suppose I can spare the time," she teased.

Unlike Cilla, Irina didn't have as much experience in dancing, and comparing them made it noticeable, but Xander was leading either way, and if that meant he just had to be a tad more noticeable when leading Irina into certain steps, then he could do it.

"I apologise for not asking you first, Irina," he told her once the dance had begun and nobody would listen to them.

"Given yesterday, I understand. I'm glad, actually, even if Rie is a nightmare with her sarcasm."

"Oh?"

"She joked that we broke up," Irina replied, light-hearted. "Just teasing between friends, don't worry."

"I can assure you that you are my favourite, my dear."

Irina smiled, but nonetheless said, "Please don't call me my dear. It's patronising."

"Of course," Xander nodded, "I respect your feelings; I won't."

"Thank you. Now, how was Cilla? Do tell."

"She's charming company."

Irina frowned. She didn't like that, and if even, that alone amused Xander. Maybe it was just nice knowing that, even with the Selection going on and all, their relationship was what Xander expected to be the norm; one where jealousy was very much possible. He would love to tell her not to worry, but unfortunately, he knew that she had a point—even with their current relationship. Xander couldn't help but feel guilty for that. He frowned too.

"What is it?" Irina asked. "You look stressed again."

Of course, she'd know. "I do feel guilty for putting you into this position. I do like you, but I don't feel comfortable saying 'yes, I will marry you', meaning the Selection will continue and—"

"Xander, I know better than to be jealous," Irina claimed.

/ / /

 **Hallways of the Tailor Hotel, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Rie Jespersen**

Eating earlier had been much more interesting than what followed. Enough people looked at Rie with that terrible pity in their eyes; that alone was reason enough for Rie to head towards the kitchens and grab something more to eat—totally not an excuse to get away. Totally not. To be fair, it was eleven o'clock. She'd been doing this for a while.

She made her way outside the hallway; for today, most of the hotel was off-limits for the public, and guests, too, were limited, but given a royal ball, that had been deemed reasonable. Who was Rie to judge them?

" _È un peccato che dobbiamo ammazzare tutti; non se lo meritano._ "

" _Si ricordi cosa è successo nella loro guerra civile. Possiamo farlo di nuovo, ma molto meglio. Sarà una strage di re, non di innocenti."_

" _Questa gente è innocente, però._ "

" _È un sacrificio che dobbiamo compiere. Questa è la nostra unica opportunità._ "

She didn't understand what they said, but she had heard enough Italian in the last days to deduce that they spoke that language. She stopped, nearby the two servers that were talking. They didn't notice her, being too delved into their own conversation. Maybe Rie should have picked up more than 'ciao' and 'grazie'…

"I didn't know the Italians brought their own staff," she pointed out.

"Oh, no, no, no!" one of them replied with heavy accent. "We are Illéan."

"… Ah?" Rie didn't believe that. Their English was too accented to be Illéan, and immigration from any countries had gone far too low during the Unrest; no one self-respecting from Europe would have come here. "Where did you learn Italian?" she asked. Maybe they tried to make her comfortable, she argued.

"We speak no Italian."

"You just—"

They interrupted her, and that was point enough to be suspicious. No intelligent Six in Illéa interrupted royalty—or possible royalty-to-be. At least no Six working for the royal family. "Please, miss, let me help you go back. I will help you, yes?"

Without letting Rie answer, he popped up behind her and began pushing her wheelchair. "Excuse me—" Rie called out, but he didn't let go; he pushed her to the end of the kitchen corridor and slammed the door shut. Rie grunted. "That's—!"

She looked around, trying to find the first _anyone_ she could find, to bring with her. As much as she hated it, she was in a disadvantage—but whatever was going on, it was suspicious enough. If they were part of the Italian staff, then they should have said that.

Let alone out of spite, Rie wanted to return.

"Isla!" She caught her walking out, probably to use the phone and call her niece good night. Quickly, Rie rolled over to her. She may wasn't any of Rie's close friends, but she would do—hopefully—and help a fellow born Seven.

"What's up?" Isla asked.

Rie quickly summarised her odd encounter, professing, "… which is why I'm heading back now."

"Can that wait until I spoke with Annie?" Isla requested.

"It's probably not going to take long. I just want to figure out _why_ they lied. And get some food."

Isla scanned her for a moment, and then nodded. "Alright, let's go."

With Isla by her side, they headed towards kitchen corridor—this time as quiet as possible. Isla slowly opened the door, peeking through it. Rie saw no one, and they headed inside. At the opened door to the kitchen, Rie couldn't see any of these odd two men, so she pointed down the corridor, towards the basement.

"Your wheelchair isn't going to work with the stairs," Isla remarked.

"I can go without." It would be a pain with her dress, but doable. And worth it.

So, leaving the wheelchair at the edge of the stairs, Rie hauled herself out of the wheelchair, and they made it down the stairs. The basement beneath the hotel was dark, with only few lights, but Isla's phone did the deal for them; they could find the light switch and turned it on.

No reaction.

Given that they weren't in the kitchen, and they hadn't passed them, they had to be somewhere _here_. Rie turned to Isla, who shrugged at her. "Let's split up," she suggested.

"That's what people in horror movies do."

"I've never seen one."

"Be happy."

Isla huffed, but nodded. She headed on, while Rie turned around the corner. She quickly recognised boxes of cleaning utensils, stored next to another in endless shelves. However, in the dim room, she could also hear an obnoxious ticking. Curious, she looked around each of the shelves, until she found the source of the sound; an odd, brown box.

Rie stepped closer to the strange devices. Her heart skipped a beat. "Isla—"

"There's a fire exit here, and it's open. Maybe they left through it?"

"This is a bomb," Rie whispered. "A makeshift one. God knows when it'll explode."

"What—?!"

Rie called out, "We need to evacuate, _now_."

She heard somewhat clumsy steps, and Isla appeared behind her. " _What?!_ "

Careful not to move to quickly—because this brown box looked awfully unstable—Rie gestured to it. "This looks like a bomb."

"Are you sure?"

"Do you want me to try and _test_ it?"

Isla didn't hesitate, "I'll go and tell the royal guard. You just get out of here, okay?"

Rie was fast enough to follow Isla without staying behind too much. They left the light on. They rushed up the stairs. Rie hauled herself back into her wheelchair. Isla and Rie left the corridor. In the semi-busy hallway, at most, they could find a couple of visitors heading to the bathrooms, but no guards.

"Where are they?" Isla wondered.

"Probably at the entrances to the ball area."

Isla nodded. "Right. Of course. This way."

They rushed past a few confused guests, up to the entrance door with the red carpet. Earlier that night, it had been filled with reporters and guests, but now, most were dancing in the ballroom. Nobody bothered to be here—except security. Rie's heart raced.

"I hate heels," Isla muttered, before stopping in front of one of the guards. "You!"

"May I help you, ma'am?"

"We think there's a bomb in the basement," Rie replied, as calm as possible.

"Are you sure? Where?"

"In the basement, near the kitchen entrance. First shelf on the right, at the end," Rie replied. "A brown box, probably between a bunch of cleaning chemicals. It's ticking and looking like the bombs they taught us to avoid in training." She had never been more grateful for her training.

"We need to evacuate."

"Ma'am, we can't just evacuate without genuine threat; are you _sure_? Alcohol sometimes—"

"Are you going to risk the lives of hundreds of guests, everyone in the building and what not? There may be more!" Isla called out.

"I saw two men speaking Italian. There was an attempt on Prince Carlos' life a week ago. This may just be another one," Rie added on.

That seemed to change his mind. He nodded, and picked up his radio. "Please, do proceed to the assembly point." He proceeded to radio his supervisor.

Isla glanced to Rie, and they headed outside into the cold Angeles night. The assembly point was located just beyond the hotel garden, directly next to the now empty beach. Given the time—eleven o'clock. Otherwise, or so Rie would have suspected, at least some Selection fans would have been around.

"Thank god it's empty," Isla noted.

"Not entirely," Rie replied, pointing towards two figures coming back from the beach. Rie could hear laughing.

The closer the two came to them, the more Rie could hear of their conversation, and recognise them. Nereida Statten and Ernest Illéa, but honestly, she didn't put that past either and given the threat, she did not question it either.

"What are you doing out here?" Nereida asked them, curious.

"There may be a bomb threat," Isla replied, matter of fact.

Rie glanced to the hotel, where a loud sound started ringing. The fire alarm, she presumed. _That_ , at least, was better than openly saying bomb threat. They could accuse it with false alarm, no matter if she had been right or not.

"A bomb threat?" Ernest repeated, flabbergasted. "When? How?"

"Rie found a bomb in the basement—something that looked too much like a makeshift bomb to ignore it. We told the guards, he told us to go here."

Ernest glanced to the hotel. "This isn't far away enough if you're right."

"Especially given that there's probably not just one," Rie added on. "I don't know if that box we found was large enough, but if it wasn't, I'm sure there are more. I saw two sketchy guys talking in Italian, and acting as if they didn't after I asked them where they were from."

"That's why we were thinking that they may be connected to the Italian—"

"Their terrorist, yeah," Ernest nodded. "If you're right, then—"

"Look!" Nereida pointed towards the road, where a white van with yellow stripes arrived. People that Rie recognised to be the bomb squad came along.

"That was fast," Isla remarked.

Ernest shrugged. "The nearby base is fully operational and working. They probably come from there."

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **Write a street festival, they said. It'll be fun, they said. Especially when you've never been to LA**

 **I really loved the third groups' idea! :) I tried my best in portraying it, so I hope you like it! May I also recommend checking out Group Four's aesthetics on Pinterest?**


	43. Chapter 42

**Fallout**

 _In the last chapter, Deylin revealed that she had seen Irina and Xander make out in the basement hallway of the palace. The girls confronted Andreia, but Deylin lashed out, leaving them along. On the next day, during the ball, Xander chose to not ask Irina to be his first dance as a result, instead dancing with Cilla and then, showing his non-existent resolve to stick to decisions, with Irina. Irina promised him she was not jealous of anyone. Meanwhile, Rie found a bomb._

 **Chapter 42**

»Xander recognised her dress—it once had been their mothers'«

 **Victoria's Sitting Room in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Victoria of Illéa**

"Miss Belasko, do you have a minute?" the footman sounded as anxious as William Willow when Tori threatened to cut off his balls.

Victoria lowered her violin mid-piece and looked between Tori, focused on a bunch of papers that bored Victoria, and the footman. Tori looked up too, unamused. "What is it?"

"There have been news that may be important, regarding your speciality."

"Why do you know of my speciality."

"I've literally just been told to tell you that by someone else, I'm sorry, I don't."

"Good," Tori rose. "Where to?"

"Meeting Room Alpha."

Victoria, carefully, placed the violin into its case, and straightened her back. "I will come along," she declared, knowing that anything in the Alpha room was important. Very creative naming indeed.

"There's really no need for it, Vic," Tori replied.

Irritated—Tori _always_ said that—Victoria shook her head. "I will come along," she reiterated.

"Kiddo, there—"

She shook her head. Even if Xander kept on taking Tori's side, this time he couldn't—because he wasn't in the Palace right now. The perfect opportunity to take action and show dad that she was fine! She waved her lady's maid by, was handed a cardigan and headed to the door.

 _And yet it is my fault._

Victoria shuddered at the thought, but when she heard Tori follow her up, she couldn't give up now. She headed on, to Meeting Room Alpha, trailed by Tori and her current guard. In the meeting room—it was one made so nobody could listen in—she took a seat, ignoring the somewhat surprised officer.

"Good evening, ma'am. I apologise for the late notice."

Victoria hadn't even noticed that it was late. "What is going on?"

"Uh, do you have the clearance for it?"

"Technically, she doesn't. She's one call away from it, though, and we might as well not bother the Crown Prince with technicalities while he is at the ball. What is it?" Tori asked.

"It _is_ regarding the ball. A bomb was fond, and they are currently in the process of evacuation. A bomb squad is searching the building and removing them. "

"What?!" Victoria called out. Her heart jumped a beat. "Is my family safe?"

"The instant the royal guard was informed, their Royal Highnesses and the Savoys were evacuated. They are on their way back to the Illéa Palace, for safety. Officially, there was a fire in the basement, cause by broken gas line. Health and safety concerns, or something."

"Where's General Wilde? He should have been told."

"At the ball."

"Of course. And everyone else who'd need to know is there too. I'm the only one without an invite." Tori huffed. "House arrest sucks."

"His Majesty the King is not present either."

"I could have guessed that."

"Ma'am, there is the suspicion that Italian activists were involved."

"Why? Do you have a reliable source? Where do you know that from?"

"Two Selected overheard two men speaking Italian, then lying about it, nearby the bomb that was first located. Given—"

"That's just a suspicion. I won't have that stop a possible resurgence." Tori paused. "Move the Savoys to Hill Castle. Claim that it's currently not occupied, meaning less likely to be targeted; we can't risk the royal family's safety for foreigners. Check the identity of every single person in the palace, employee or elsewise. Establish an investigative committee. Include one or two Italian people into the committee, if the General or the Crown Prince deems it necessary."

"So, Xanxan is safe," Victoria stated. The officer nodded, and she let go a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"It appears," Tori nodded.

"Then, what are you going to do now?"

"From what I understand, the plan is to search the building and then start an investigation. Security footage, staff names, who was present. That kind of stuff."

"But how are you going to catch them?! What if you don't find them and they go on and hurt more people? They'll hurt them! Someone might be hurt!"

"I'm aware of that, Your Highness… We can only do the best we can."

"Vic," Tori spoke up, with that kind look in her eyes. "We are doing the best we can. There are no rebels outside."

"What about—"

Tori interrupted him, "There's nobody who wants to harm your family. The officer is right; it's probably the Italians. They had just been attacked abroad. They brought their own war here."

She had stood against that though! Literally—Tori had said that she wasn't going to leave anything up to chance, be it the Italian's or anyone else's war—it could be _them_. Vic couldn't let them go— _not when they know who was at fault_.

"The royal guard will deal with it. Xander will be here anytime soon; I'm sure you can be there for him. Plus, your father might need you," Tori added on with a smile.

"Ma'am, regarding the Selected—there's discord among the guard. Are they to be told the truth, or the lie we give the public?"

Tori shrugged. "Not my decision to make. Ask the Crown Prince."

"What do you mean?" Victoria inquired.

"If we tell the girls, we risk the eliminated—or all, to be frank—to reveal the truth to the public. If we do not tell them and the truth comes out, then the royal family looks like liars."

 _They do deserve the truth._

"We should not tell them," Tori added on, "in my opinion at least. If they truth comes out, then we can always additionally inform them they had not been told to avoid panic among them."

"They are in danger though, if it is _them_. They deserve to know."

"It'll be fine," Tori assured her. Empty words, Vic knew now, that she liked to repeat all the time. Most of the time, she chose to give in, but hadn't she promised dad that she would be stronger? That meant taking an action too, not just idly sitting back! "I think that is all you need from me. Come on, Vicky, it's late either way."

Even though Tori dragged her along, pushed her to sleep and left her alone. There was, though, no way for her to fall asleep now, and so, Victoria Illéa did something she had heaps of practise in—quietly waiting.

Another extra while after Tori had left her and she for sure knew that she wasn't here anymore, Victoria rose again, had her lady's maid return her clothes again and, even if it was midnight and she always rested early, stood ready for her self-assigned mission—like the princess of Illéa she was meant to be.

The Women's Room had, once, been a place where mother met with her friends, where she entertained first ladies and queen consorts of foreign nations and where, during normal days, Sophia and Victoria often joined them. That, though, was a lifetime ago, and mummy was nowhere to be found. Maybe she was in Clermont?

She stepped into the Women's Room quietly, where the left twenty-three—she counted them twice—girls sat, stood, and chatted louder than the sound of gunfire. They were many, and it almost pushed Victoria to hid back— _but no, I am here with a mission._

The girls were alone, without Sophy, Xanxan, or anyone telling them what happened. Surely, they agreed with Tori's ideas—otherwise, someone would have told them. Victoria, unseen in the door, listened and heard the words 'gas leak' a bit too often to assume they already had been.

 _They deserve the truth, Vic, even if they're here to steal Xanxan._

She stepped to the front and now, a few girls noticed her. She saw Anastasia and Jaira, the redhead and the brunette, stop mid-conversation, visibly surprised and confused. "Excuse me?" The volume of her voice surprised herself, but of course—the last time, she had asked for the attention of the Women's Room, she had been younger and whole.

The girls turned their attention to her, some confused. They didn't recognise her, Victoria realised. Just like Jaira and Anastasia hadn't at first.

"As far as I am aware, you have been told about the gas leak at the ball. Is that true?"

Generally, the group nodded. Two odd girls glanced towards another, but remained silent. Did they know? Why did they know?

"That's a lie. From what I get, the royal guard does not want you to know. I think that's stupid, which is why I am here," she kept on. _Stay strong, Vicky._ "Earlier today, at least one, if not more, bombs were found to be planted at the hotel, likely targeting the ball."

Cue chaos. Shouts. Exclamations. Questions—that Victoria didn't listen to.

"We do not know for sure, yet, if that was an act of war, terrorism or else. There appears to be evidence leading onto…" She looked for words. "…unrest in Italy connecting to this."

"Do you mean the bombs they found last week?" a brunette asked.

"Sawyer, ssh. There may be more; I want to hear it," another girl told her.

"I assume so." It wasn't like anyone told _her_ anything. "Again, there hasn't been much time, but I believe you deserve to know it."

"Wait—does that mean, if there hadn't been that gas leak, we all would be dead?" another girl, worried, asked.

"The gas leak is a lie they tell the press."

"Why are they lying to them?"

"Because if you tell them that 'there nearly was a bombing at the ball', people will panic. If it's them, then—" Vic broke off. If it was them, then that awful war wasn't over yet. Even more people would die. She'd lose even more and more and more people she loved and—

"and?"

"Are you suggesting that behind that are rebels?" one girl asked, with a frown.

"It—it can't be excluded."

"We almost died? The rebels almost killed us?" The brunette's—Sawyer—friend trembled.

"Yes," Victoria nodded, not understanding the chaos that would come with it.

"And?"

"That's all I know."

"What is happening now?"

"They'll investigate it."

"But, _why?_ "

"That, they will hopefully learn…?" Victoria ended.

/ / /

 **Outside the Women's Room in the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Princess Sophia of Illéa**

An hour after arriving at home, Sophia Illéa would have expected to be able to go and rest. Instead, when she and Xander had been told about the 'surprising'—it wasn't surprising at all, to be frank—leak to the press, she knew that tonight would be one of lots of coffee. After giving a brief, vague and, essentially, 'We don't know the details, we'll keep you updated but don't expect much' press statement, she was informed of the chaos in the Women's Room.

Sophia wanted sleep, not some peasant girls worrying about a bunch of bombs. She had been through worse things; these threats were daily life to a princess. The girls had known, apparently, longer but given that it had been Rie and Isla to find the bombs, the royal guard's effort to keep it quiet around them was fruitless either way. A much bigger issue was to figure out who had spoken to the press—she doubted it was anyone of the Selected. They had been under the guard's eyes the whole time.

Maybe the royal guard?

"Victoria told them," Abby told her when meeting her outside the Women's Room.

"Vic did?" Sophia asked, surprised—except that she was too tired to be surprised. Or to think further about it.

"Apparently. She's still in there, and I'm not sure if—"

"I'll deal with it." _Family therapist in action, huh?_

With that announcement, she stepped into the Women's Room; the loud, anxious chatter breaking off immediately. She stepped besides her sister, half-surrounded by Selected bombarding her with questions like hungry hyenas. To be fair, her responses showed traces of the princess she once was.

"That is enough," she declared. "Victoria is required elsewhere."

"Am I?" her sister piped.

" _Yes._ " She turned to her, nodded to Abby whom she had left in the doorframe, and glanced back.

 _Thank god_ , she thought when Victoria proved to have a brain and left her. Less things she needed to take care of; more focus on these panicking girls. She advised them all to take a seat, so she could address the situation properly. That alone took a moment and more and more passive-aggressiveness on her side.

"Alright. To recap, as I don't know what you have caught until now. Earlier today, Lady Gabriella and Lady Isla found what has been confirmed to be a makeshift bomb within the basement of the venue. A minute later, the fire alarm was rung to evacuate the building. Squads arrived; people are dealing with it." She paused. "I understand that my sister probably jumped to the conclusion that it was rebels. Please apologise that; she has her reasons. The current predominant theory is that recent oppositions against my cousin's position in the line of succession followed him here. Questions?"

"Why is this kept secret? Why the lie about the gas leak?"

"We were not told about the actual threat until evacuated. The press secretary was also told that a gas leak had caused a fire," Sophia went on. "We were told wrong facts, and the wrong facts went public. Mishaps happen, and we cannot stop them. We have people investigating the details; until more is known, I can't go on with more for exactly that reason."

"What is happening now?"

"The Savoys will leave, as planned, tomorrow. Additional security will be supplied. Said team will investigate. We wait for answers."

"We _wait_?" Sawyer asked. "We have to _do_ something!"

"Lady Sawyer, by all respect, I believe the only person in this room who comes close in the skillset of investigating these events is Lady Andreia. I'm fairly sure that she, though, understands that leaving the assigned team of professionals will be more important." She paused. "Tomorrow morning, the events of the night will be addressed in a special _Report_ , to assure the people that everything is under control. You all will be part of that."

Sawyer seemed—or at least Sophia told herself that—to understand.

"Does this happen a lot?" Kate asked.

"Possibly foreign terrorists attacking foreign sovereigns on Illéan soil? No. There being threats on my—our—life because we are Ones? Yes. That's life, sweetie. If you don't want that, then now is the time to be honest and leave. Nobody will judge you for that; if we could, I know that Louis and Victoria would, for sure." Maybe she, even would. "The longer you wait out, the less normal your life will be later."

Now, in the silence, nobody rose and announced they would leave. Nonetheless, Sophia doubted that there wouldn't at least be one girl to leave.

"You're free to contact me, Abby or Xander on that matter if you wish. On that note—nobody is stopping you from leaving. I know it's an arbitrary rule that only Xander can let you go, but I can assure you, if you asked him, he'd say yes, but he's too busy for that, so just ask me or Abby. Blame me if you get into trouble."

Slowly, the girls moved back to the quiet chatter, still tense but less anxious. Sophia took a deep breath. Just this done, and she could go and head to bed. Maybe check on dad, actually, if he had heard the news. She sighed. Another thing to do, huh?

"That is all on my side. My advice is to go and sleep; I'll do it myself once I get around to it. Good night. I'll see you tomorrow."

She didn't give anyone else the shot at speaking to her, instead turning around immediately and heading out to the door. However, even though she hoped it wouldn't happen, one of the girls caught up.

"Your Highness?" Kate asked.

Did she want to leave? "Yes, dear?"

"I just wanted to say thank you. I think everyone's really worried, but you're here, so strong and calm. It's amazing! I wish I could do that!"

Well, she did half of it by looking like a child on its birthday. Sophia gave her a smile. A genuine, tired one. How sweet of her. "You're welcome. Go rest. It's been a long day."

Even if she had been short of hugging her for that—yes, she needed that—she turned away and headed on to the door, because it was almost inevitable that her father needed someone to check up on him. If he was asleep—and Sophia prayed that he was—then she'd come by tomorrow, again, but she wasn't going to risk him being worried overnight.

By the time she reached the third floor and her father's rooms, though, she could catch upon a conversation inside.

"I'm terribly sorry, Adrian. I couldn't say who leaked the threat to the press." She heard the sobbing voice of Lillian Blanchard say. _Who_ was this woman? Coming by at midnight—they were no normal friends, were they not? Sophia clenched a fist. _Seriously, dad? Aren't you meant to grieve mum's death?_

"It's alright, Lillian," the King replied. _No, it's not, dad. Elsewise, we could have gone to bed early. Now I need to explain to the German court why this happened. Stable—we need to appear stable._ "We can deal with it." _Tell that the panicking people._

"I—I can't believe that Ingrid is in such… such dangerous…" Lillian broke off. "What if this happens again? What if that time, something happens?"

"I—"

She kept on sobbing. "You knew before of the Italian's unrests, right? Why did you let them come?"

"Xander made that decision, I—"

"Adrian, please, can't you do anything? Please—if Xander cannot stop that from happening, then you must do something!"

"I… Alright. I'll try."

 _Excuse me!?_ A sobbing Lillian Blanchard could cry all she wanted, but her dad just agreeing to do something because of her? What? After months of the Illéas trying to get him out of his room, this stranger just asked for it? Sophia stepped back. She shook her head. Surely, this was just some sleep-deprived hallucination. It had to be. She needed sleep, and tomorrow, all would look normal and alright again.

She had tried for months, to keep the family together. Now this woman came—?!

/ / /

 **Hallway of the Third Floor of the Palace, Los Angeles, Angeles  
Crown Prince Xander of Illéa**

It took hours for the Illéa Palace to grow quiet. Late at night, Xander was only finally coming back up, now tired and ready to rest, to find Ernest glancing down the grand staircase.

"You should sleep," he told his brother. "It's late, and it's been a long day."

"Xander," Ernest began, " _how_ can you sleep _now_?"

"I'm about to fall asleep standing. That is how. What's keeping you up?" He stepped next to him. By all means, he shouldn't be comforting him. Sophia was good at that. He? He might as well be deaf.

Ernest pursed his lips. "I tried. I really did. Every single time I close my eyes, though, I keep thinking—what if the rebels are back?"

"We've taken out every single of their bases. We have surveillance on everywhere. The people hate the rebels as much as we do. Look at the damage they did. Nobody would dare to come out and support them _now_."

"Why, and how, would Italian terrorists attack in Illéa though? It's too much work to fly over an ocean, get your hands on a bomb and then dress up as servants."

Xander nodded. "How about the two men Gabriella and Isla saw?"

"Could be acting. Could be the rebels making Italian-speaking people plant them."

"Why would they want to divert attention from them? That's fundamentally against their past strategies. Their leaders always immediately claimed responsibility, to further their propaganda."

"What if they now have a reason not to shout out their names into the world?" Ernest suggested. "What if they don't want people to know now, or just don't care about what the people think? They've always just been after us, after all."

Xander shook his head. "They've always relied on having support of the people. They need it for resources, shelter and numbers. They've lost all in the past months. They've lost; less people will be willing to join them, even if they agree with their ideas."

"We need to get Project Omega moving."

"I know." Xander nodded. "I won't expose the people to it until we know it'll work, though. By keeping quiet, they don't gain support, but they know that we'd look into the possibility either way. They'd only lose."

"Or so you claim. What does your friend say?"

"She's not left the palace without supervision. Belasko isn't involved."

"Hmhm…" Ernest shrugged. "Still, what if they hurt our family?" He glanced aside to the faint lights outside, the city and the country. "What if they catch Vicky again? Or Sophy? Louis? Me, or you? What do we do then?"

"We fight to get them back."

"Wouldn't it be better to hide? I was safe in Bonita. I was happy."

Was he though? Xander doubted that. Not given how he had reacted when being sent there, and not going by the radio silence that followed after that. Because this was entirely about family. "Illéa needs us here," he replied.

"I'd put them first," Ernest admitted. "Always. Family—it'd put family first."

"Do that," Xander told him. "Put family first, because of Illéa is our family in some way."

"That's awfully poetic for you." Ernest huffed.

"I'm trying my best."

"Or we both just need sleep."

Xander agreed, and pushed his brother back towards his rooms, away so he could go and sleep. He himself followed the notion, all too ready to and rest. Though, again, the prince was interrupted—now by the door opening, followed by a servant asking someone to leave.

"Xander?" Irina asked, ignoring the guard stationed outside.

"Let her be," Xander told the guard, and gestured her to come in. "What can I do for you?"

Irina, wrapped in a gown, looked awfully tired, and pale. Today, Xander presumed, or rather, the news of the evening. At least Victoria—gosh, he needed to talk to her, didn't he?—telling them meant they didn't learn through the news…

"I'm sorry to bother you," Irina whispered.

"It's fine." Xander hugged her. She was cold—only in the gown and her pyjama, she had to be freezing. She leaned into the hug. Xander didn't move. He couldn't—not when Irina looked like she was about to cry. His hand trailed down her cheek. "Can I do anything for you?"

"Evan is out on duty because of the bombs. Can I stay here? Just a bit for the familiarity…?"

"Of course," Xander assured. "Did anything happen?"

"It's just scary to think of what almost happened, and how we wouldn't have noticed if Rie hadn't been hungry. We all could be dead, buried under the foundations of the hotel!"

"I know."

"We could be dead. You could be dead. I could be dead. Evan could be dead again and—" She went on and on in her endless circles of worry. Xander took her head and held it tight.

"We aren't," he reminded her. "We're alive, and we can find who was doing that, and we can keep them away from doing real harm."

Irina placed her head against his shoulder and nodded. They'd be fine, they'd be safe and they'd go on. He had done that so often; it was just a second nature to him!

"I know but that doesn't make it much less real. It's just— _frustrating_. I hate that."

"It always is." Not being able to do much and just waiting was the worst, though. "Why don't we go and sleep now. We're both tired, and tomorrow is going to be busy. Philosophy isn't as good as sleep."

"Can I stay here?" Irina asked again.

"Of course," Xander repeated.

And so, far too late into the night, Xander found himself fast asleep at Irina's side. His own dreams were filled with the images he had seen from the attacks in Italy, last week, and the hotel in the same situation. Not exactly the peaceful sleep he had hoped for, but something. Irina, however, did not get the same. At three o'clock in the morning, Xander found himself awake next to her. Irina was tossing and turning in his bed, muttering unintelligible words. The only words Xander caught were 'Evan' and 'dead'.

She was having a nightmare.

"Irina?" he whispered. He didn't want to—knowing it all too well from Vic—touch her, in case that would make things worse. "Irina?" he repeated.

It took him a while until he managed to wake her up, and when he did, he embraced her wordless. That silence was all they needed, he thought. She still trembled when she tried to push away a strand of hair. He brushed said hand.

"You aren't there," he whispered. He had no idea where 'there' was, but it was somewhere Irina most certainly wasn't.

"I know…" she muttered. "I know."

/ / /

The next morning was busy. With, at most, five hours of sleep, he stepped into his office, to collect the notes that had been written for him, noting the arrest of two suspicious individuals of Italian citizenship, and turned them into an explanation worthy of giving to the people of Illéa. After that, with a bit of breakfast on his way, he headed to the _Report_ studio, where both his family and the Selected, mostly, were present. Appearances. Keeping up appearances. The girls were what Sophia wanted them to be, Cinderellas.

"Beautiful organisation," he told her, while directing his attention at the girls whose dresses subtly referenced the Illéan flag. Together, they appeared as union, even with the dresses' subtle difference. It wasn't a uniform, but close enough. "That's a good choice of clothing. Did you have that planned?"

Sophia vaguely nodded. "Part of the first budget. I hoped it wouldn't come, but when I gave you the numbers, I included one formal gown per week. For most weeks, I had that money used on different things—given that we didn't always have adequate events—but the first one was used to create these. If there'd be vigils or something, or for the day when the Unrest begun and we'd go and remember…"

"That's why I've got you to organise this all."

Sophia smiled. She herself had chosen a similar dress, although only in one, more vibrant, colour. She stood out from the other girls. In the corner of the studio, where she stood in no one's way, Victoria waited. Xander recognised her dress—it once had been their mothers'.

"Your choice too?"

Sophia nodded. "I'm glad she came."

"I'm too. It'll look better and—" It meant she was getting better. Maybe it had been a good idea to let her come along to work after all?

"Your Highness?" The director of the _Report_ called out. "We are ready; five minutes until we are on air."

Sophia gave Xander one more encouraging smile, very much meaning a 'It'll go great', and headed on to join Ernest by his side. With the Savoys also present, the girls and even his father—even if he wouldn't speak to his people—the studio was overfilled. Xander thanked Gregory Illéa for his excess.

"People of Illéa," he addressed, when they went live. "Yesterday night, at roughly eleven o'clock in the evening, various makeshift bombs had been found to be placed in the basement of the Los Angeles Tailor Hotel, where a formal, diplomatic event was held. Thanks to Lady Gabriella Jensen and Lady Isla Woodley, those were discovered and removed before anyone could come to harm. At first, this was miscommunicated to be a fire caused by a gas leak, due to the fire alarm being sound. This information has spread, but is false. While various terrorist organisations have claimed responsibility, two suspects have been arrested who have potential links to an Italian terrorist movement. As the investigation continues, more will be revealed."

That speech went on to safety and what not, but by the time, the broadcast ended and Xander was back to his office, another mountain of papers had arrived. Work—of course—that he would deal with later. For now, there were more meetings to attend and the Selection—

Sophia came in. "Xander?"

"I was just about to call for you," he replied. "What is it?"

" _Worried parents_ ," Sophia spat out. "The press office has gotten a few concerned calls by a Selected's mother, insisting for her to come home. I can promise you, she does not want to."

"Who?"

"Tessera Evans—and I'm faily sure that it's only going to take so much time until the same applies to Katheryn Blanchard."

"I'll go and speak to them. If they want to leave, I'll tell you. Meanwhile," he handed her the file he had been—more the less-hiding in his desk. "This. Sorry for the late notice, but I had to make some last-minute changes to it."

"What's 'this'?" Sophia asked. "That summit you're planning to do?"

"No—the British Commonwealth is organising it, and that's going pretty well right now. They agreed to my suggestion. I'll need you to prepare the girls, but that'll happen later on either way. Right now, this needs to be prepared by—to be honest, by today lunch."

"What's so urgent?"

"Eliminations."

"Oh, yes," Sophia muttered, bitter. "Thanks for giving me a notice in advance, this time," she huffed. "Who? Why the file?"

"It's in the file. The rest is up to you and Abby. The file—there is something I need you to make sure off for three of the girls. They know something and—"

"Something?"

"They are aware of my relationship towards some of the Selected," Xander dodged, "and I don't want that to come out just yet."

"Alright…?" Sophia opened the file, and skimmed the names. He didn't look at her, though. Maybe because he didn't want to know what she thought. The decision was made, and that was all. "Will do. Any particular reason you want the public to hear?"

"Just go with the generic one. Not my type, don't work with me, no need to give them false hope. Make sure it doesn't look like the Italians and the ball affected it, though. Maybe note that the decision had been made after the first round, but held out until after the ball, as they worked hard for it, and unlike Alessandra and Zarah didn't outright request to go home."

Sophia nodded, her eyes still on the paper. "I'll organise the announcement and the girls' advisors. That brings it down to eighteen, doesn't it?"

It did. Leaving Sophia with the organisation aspect, he himself headed towards the Women's Room. Given that it was Sunday, he wasn't sure if the girls would be here, but fortunately, most of them turned out to be here, once again. He requested for the two's presence before realising that both maybe didn't want the other to know.

"Did something happen?" Tessa immediately worried.

"Are you eliminating us?" Kate, more forward, asked. She, though, equally worried.

"Not directly, and not if you don't want to leave."

"Oh, great!" Kate cheered, with her typical bubbliness. "What's up, then?"

"As far as I have been told, both of your parents have expressed concerns for your safety, and requested you to return home. They have, of course, no power over that, but I would like to know if you want to stay or leave. There _is_ , of course, always some form of danger towards our life, hence…" he trailed off.

Kate shook her head. "Anything is better than going back," she declared, a tad too serious for herself.

Xander, nonetheless, smiled. "I'm glad that you'll be staying them. We'll need your positivity and hopefulness during these times."

"I feel the same," Tessa added on. "I came here to see the world; I don't want to leave because it frightens me. I appreciate my mother's concern, but I want to stay."

"I'm glad to hear that," he repeated. "Do feel free to contact them and assure them that you are happy to stay here; that is all I needed from you both though."

"Awesome! Good job today, by the way," Kate added on, as cheerful as always.

Xander gave both another smile, before sending them back on their way. The second group, though, was a tad harder; the five girls he intended to eliminate. Something told him that maybe it was more appropriate to do that one by one, but he asked all five to come out, following Tessa and Kate.

Because it was easier for him, and because he had another meeting to attend, before the Italians would leave.

"What's up?" Deylin Reyes asked. Besides her, Sawyer Roth, Minerva Whitefield, 'Sloth Girl' and Economy Student, the Selected from Honduragua, stood.

He took a moment—how did he start this last time? Last time, they had been strangers, barely present for more than a few days in his life. Now they had been around in the Palace, and even if he had met each girl only once—

"I have called you here to inform you that I am eliminating you," he said, because that was why he was here and there wasn't much else to add on. Reasons, he could provide if asked for. He could add on the political niceness and what not, but thanking them for their service and what not—alright, he told himself, maybe he should. "I thank you for your time and service to Illéa, but I have come to the decision that your abilities are much more welcome elsewhere. Given the nature of the Selection, I do not wish to make you false hope."

"Is that because of Irina," Deylin huffed.

"No." His response came too fast.

"But…?" Sawyer rose an eyebrow.

"For you, Lady Sawyer, I am concerned that your feelings towards the Unrest, its rioters and terrorists may make you a target." Or distract her from what was really needed. That anger didn't fit a Queen, who needed to love all her subjects, even those who hated her. "For you, Lady Minerva, I believe that more than anything else, you need to take time to recover from the Unrest in the first place." She needed help, not the Selection and its dangers. "As for you three—I don't want to make you false hopes, because I do not believe that we would fit well." And Deylin Reyes had lashed out for a Selected falling in love with the Prince; something that the Selection was meant to be about…

"Ah. Absolutely," Deylin muttered.

"My sister and her team will be in touch with you shortly to organise your return home," Xander added on. He took a moment, and straightened his back. Stiff, but regal. "That is all. You are dismissed." He turned around, heading to the government meeting rooms. He and Carlos had business to handle.

Plus—round two was about to start. He was down to eighteen girls. One of them could definitely win—but would Irina be the One?

/ / /

NOTICE – PLANS AT THE HOTEL FAILED MISERABLY. THANK YOU FOR LEAKING. WILL CONTACT CONTACTS IN THE PALACE TO PROCEED FURTHER. THEY ARE ONTO WILL; STAY LOW UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. HOW IS YOUR INFILTRATION GOING? - JACK

/ / /

 _ **Author's Note**_

 **This chapter was brought to you by Milly-has-no-time-to-edit-or-anything-because-she-is-drowning-in-exams. Sorry for not updating earlier, I forgot it was Friday.**


End file.
